Dawn of Titans
by F13D
Summary: There is nothing fair, just, or honorable about war. There is only winning and losing, the living and the dead. Humanity has learned this truth and has ascended to the stars. What effect will this have on the rest of the galaxy, one that has experienced a millennia of peace? Will it be able to maintain the peace or will it be ushered into a new age of war? Let the end begin.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

**A/N: This epic and new story is brought to you by the talents of fellow writers Andotrota, V-rcingetorix, and myself. I highly recommend you check out their stories. We hope you enjoy this trilogy and if you have any questions do not hesitate to ask. Me as well as my colleagues will respond to every review as soon as we can and either get back to you through a private PM or through A/N in future chapters. The codex for this story and its two sequels is also available under the title, Chronicles of a New Age (Codex).**

 **Disclaimer: All rights go Bioware and Ubisoft, respectively.**

* * *

1-24-2090 0832 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Earth**

 **Autonomous Drone Research Department: Skunkworks**

 **Phoenix, Arizona. UNAS**

 _'Bored. Booooorrrrreed. Boring, boring, boring ... and, just for a change of pace, boredy-boredy-bored.'_

Mateus Silva glared at the monitor. Its counterpart, millions of miles away, ignored his silent demand and gave yet another image of a dull red landscape. The image, already over five minutes old, began processing yet another dull, _boring_ rock.

 _'I worked for ten years, getting my doctorate for this.'_ Mateus rubbed his eyes, trying to relieve the stress headache he could sense building behind his eyes. ' _Ten ... bloody ... years!'_

"Having a bit of trouble, Dr. Silva?" A female voice from just behind his shoulder did its best to jam itself through the mental filters he'd erected to block annoyances. Like Dr. Lin.

"Not at all, Doctor." Silva murmured, trying to resume focusing on the screen before him. ' _Iron, trace amounts of oxygen, igneous rock components. Odd spike in the nitrogen band, but nothing interesting.'_

"I wanted to thank you for taking over the night shift," the "professional" continued. "I really appreciate your dedication."

Silva could hear the mirth underlying the last statement. ' _Yeah, right. The only thing you appreciate is something that strokes your ego.'_ Outwardly, he gave the screen a polite smile, refusing to turn his head. "It benefits both of us, then. I prefer working nights anyway."

Neither of them mentioned how Dr. Lin had jockeyed for the prime observation time slots, the periods during which the test-drone had the greatest field of vision. Time periods during which, incidentally, did _not_ effectively render the observer a monk, celibate and sober. Silva kept a snort from escaping, covering it with a little tune he whistled through his teeth. ' _Soldiers fought their wars with guns and fists; scientists had less obvious weapons.'_

"Well, I'm going on a date. I have a friend that might be interested, if you want to double-date some time?"

He finally turned his head, fixing a vapid grin on his face. "Thank you, but don't go through the trouble Doctor Lin. My schedule is locked in for the next month or two, and I wouldn't be good company."

The dark-hared scientist smirked at him. "Pity, well, better luck next time." She didn't bother waiting for his reply, heading out the door with a definite sway to her step.

 _'Finally.'_ Silva ignored the taunt, returning to the analysis.

* * *

 **Five hours later**

 _'All right, that's three rocks examined, fifteen ambient radiation samples, and thirty-two levels in Candy Smash. Time for another ambient sample?_ Silva checked the clock, noting the time in the log. _1:15 A.M. Sending request for ambient radiation test.'_

He waited for the command to be sent, then started another level of Candy Smash. It was a minor peccadillo, nothing to be ashamed of ... although everyone he knew whom played kept their involvement somewhat discreet. ' _What else is a scientist to do while waiting for results? Sing Gilbert and Sullivan?'_

Thirty-two minutes later, his wrist-phone twisted from nerveless fingers. The innocent screen blinked numbers at him, showing a sine wave on the right-hand side of the screen that had not been there before. ' _That can't be right ... it has to be signal bleed, or maybe a jammed com-line ... unless ...'_ Silva ruthlessly crushed the thought. ' _No. First, report it.'_ His formerly motionless fingers leaped into action, years of practice operating despite the lack of intellectual application. ' _Ah, 1:47 A.M. Coherent electro-magnetic signal detected, operating within the 40 mHz range. Repeating scan.'_

Outside of his notice, the main door hissed open, letting people enter in a slow trickle. They were careful to not disturb Dr. Silva or his routine in any way. Superstition, even in high academia, held a powerful influence.

This time, his attention was riveted to the screen, hands clenched on the edge of his desk. ' _No sense telling anyone right now, could be a fluke. It has to be a fluke. The bare thought of it is illogical, crazy even ...'_ Despite his own assurances, the primitive mind all humans knew hid behind a thin veneer of civilization still hoped. ' _After all, truth is stranger than fiction, right? No! NO! Don't think about it. Um, Candy Smash!'_

Time ticked past. A faint rustling began intruding on his consciousness, but he still resisted acknowledging it. To the world at large, he was still a well-dressed scientist, maintaining a professional calm the envy of half the civilized world. At this point, the room was well over half-filled, a collected mass of the best and brightest the UNAS had to offer.

Four utterly failed rounds of Candy Smash later, the screen blinked, showing revised results. Silva's eyes flew to the right-hand side. The sine-wave was still present, twisting silently. Slowly, his hand reached out, tapping the logbook open. ' _2:19 AM ... repeated ambient radiation test confirms earlier reading. Sending request for a more thorough analysis, as much of the spectrum as possible. I am also sending a request for backup, this is definitely an orderly transmission ... and the reports show that no one else has sent anything to Mars, especially this region.'_

The log blinked its acceptance, almost at the same time as the monitor blinked another update, showing a second frequency distortion.

"Great Galileo Galilei ..." Silva breathed. _This_ , was proof positive. Definite indication of intelligence, and non-human intelligence at that.

Because there, staring at the camera, was a clearly defined door. Into the hill. On Mars.

The sheer volume of noise released nearly lifted him out of his chair. Hands clapped his shoulders, slapping his back with enough force to shake his bones.

Silva gaped, unwittingly imitating a fish recently caught. Then, out of the corner of one eye, he saw one other figure. A rather annoyed one at that. He smiled, nodding a greeting at Dr. Lin, as a gesture between comrades. Ignoring her somewhat cool response, he turned, accepting the accolades.

Boredom might not have been so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2 - ET meets the Alliance

12-25-2156 0500 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Alliance Military Headquarters**

 **General's Quarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

The holoscreen was flickering again; the erratic semi-static buzzing that caused the projected image to flicker was enough to wake up anyone peacefully sleeping. General Williams, commanding officer of the 67th System's Alliance Marine corp home division, awoke feeling refreshed and renewed. Rubbing his eyes, Williams looked at the digital clock on the wall, showing the standard time he usually awoke. He had short cut hair, brown caramel eyes and a growing beard on his face.

Soft orchestra music floated out of the speakers, positioned strategically around the room so that he would never be without the comforting strains of the trumpets as they ascended in volume. Getting out of bed, Williams made his way to the shower which was how he started all mornings. If there was one thing that General Williams always drilled into his men's head, it was that a good shower makes a good soldier. A nice shower in the morning was great for removing any filth on your body or simply relieving any stress. It was one of the many small things that an officer could do to ease the strain of leading hundreds of thousands of marines of the Alliance. It was also one of a few things capable of improving morale.

Turning on the shower, Williams let the hot water fall down his face, cherishing every contact it had with his skin. He enjoyed the warm and soothing falling water as it relaxed his senses. For seven long, luxurious minutes, Williams relaxed in the hot water, thoroughly soaping and scrubbing himself. The importance of personal hygiene in the life of a soldier could never be underestimated. After a few days, no matter how clean one was, the human body would start to stink and if the soldier stank so did their performance. The worst enemy a soldier could face was not another soldier, but bacteria. It was responsible for killing more humans than anything else in human history.

"Time allotted for bathing has expired," Vianna said. She was General Williams' personal artificial intelligence and assisted the general with his daily tasks. AIs were a new invention introduced into the Alliance fairly recently; being able to improve productivity by 213% they were highly sought after assets within the military. Despite being machines they were capable of showing basic emotions and would often adopt their commanding officer's behavior, which was a good or bad thing depending on how you looked at it.

Rising from the water, Williams retrieved a towel and vigorously dried himself. Retrieving a white colored toothbrush, the Alliance's signature colors, and an electric razor he began taking care of the other aspects of his personal grooming.

"Vianna, time check." Williams said.

"The current time is: 0512 hours."

"Thank you, Vianna."

"Aye, sir."

Shanxi's day cycle was longer than that of Earth's, which meant some of the garrison marines grumbled at having to wake up two hours earlier than they would have to. Of course Williams reminded them they could always do two more hours of work to balance out the day. Obviously, they decided to get up earlier rather than receive extra work.

Finished with his grooming Williams stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but underpants and a plain white t-shirt. The first stage of his morning schedule was dealt within 12 minutes, just like every other morning. Williams wasn't obsessive compulsive, but he did enjoy having a constant routine. Getting dressed into his Alliance issued uniform, he walked over to his desk and sat down crossed legged on his reclining chair.

Getting up earlier meant he had more time to finish additional tasks, the most important of which were always on the top of his list. Grabbing a small black thick book from his desk, Williams opened it and began reading. Like his family, Williams was a religious man, a Christian to be exact and started every morning with prayer. It helped add a perspective in his life, and he always appreciated the spiritual things in nature. Though Williams had been ribbed for his high expectations in his men, no soldier under his command had ever mocked him for his personal beliefs. He spent twenty minutes every morning completely focused in his prayer and meditation. Likewise he offered his men the same amount of time, what they chose to do with it was their business so long as it did not interfere with their performance.

For Williams though today was a very special day, possibly one of the most important, right next to his anniversary and birthdays of every one of his relatives. December 25th, also known as Christmas, was a holiday he enjoyed spending with his family. Unfortunately, Williams was unable to return home this year and was instead stuck doing frontier work while his family sent him care packages and letters. Still he didn't let a little homesickness faze him. As a general, he had a vital task in ensuring the colony had some semblance of order. He continued reading his book, flipping page after page of white parchment. When he was finished reading he placed the book back on his desk, got up, and walked to his door. Exiting his quarters, he was met with the still dark sky of Shanxi. Williams made his way to the central building within the compound, walking at a moderate pace to where his work always began.

Overall the compound was rectangular in shape with some curves. An eleven foot tall wall surrounded the base with numerous guard positions and heavy gun emplacements on top of it. Several watchtowers with snipers and portable rocket launchers kept a watchful eye for any sign of trouble. Aside from the Comm. tower, the base had several QECs transmitters that would alert anyone with the proper channel of any signs of danger, though Williams had never had to use them and believed he would never have to. The colony housed numerous Alliance bases, but also featured many from the UNAS, European Federation, Russia, and the New Chinese Republic. The four mega powers of Earth, or the Big Four as they were more commonly known, were each forced to cooperate and have training exercises with each other as part of a unity program by the Alliance. Because of this there was a distinct lack of Angel satellites, High Energy Lasers, and Mother Land Guards in orbit with even less Thermobaric missile silos on the planet. But, there was still more than enough online to annoy the Alliance.

Walking past the base's mess hall, barracks, and airfield, Williams finally arrived at his destination. Stepping inside the base's central command, he was greeted by one of his co-workers.

"Good morning, general," Corporal Hackshaw said cheerfully. "Communications with the patrol detachment is up and Captain Wang reports no signs of trouble,"

"Good to hear. Once the men are up and geared, I want them ready to perform drills by 0600 hours," Williams ordered.

"Aye, sir . By the way I think you should know, last night hurricane Colt was downgraded to a tropical storm. It is predicted to hit us tomorrow morning, possibly even tonight if it gains speed."

"In that case I'll send a company of engineers to hand out supplies and make sure the city's infrastructure is secured. If the storm does look like it's going to hit us, then have all sensitive equipment powered down and the vehicles secured with a tarp. No sense in leaving our gear out to get soaked," Williams said, taking the threat of the storm seriously. While not as destructive as a hurricane, tropical storms were still powerful enough to cause significant damage and had done so in the past.

Looking around, Williams received a testament to humanity's progress. The building was decorated with some of the most advanced pieces of technology mankind had ever developed utilizing Element Zero. Several consoles, terminals, and computer screens surrounded the room, each geared to a specific task. Hundreds of cables ran underneath Williams' feet as they stored and transmitted data across systems. Considering the place was responsible for managing and communicating with all Alliance personal on the planet, it made sense that the facility be outfitted with the necessary machinery to serve its functions.

"Yes sir. Anything else?"

"No that will be all corporal." Williams replied. Since today was Sunday, according to the Alliance calendar, everyone had light duties and the troopers were more enthusiastic as a result. Already Williams could see some of the more experienced and dedicated marines running and jogging on the track around the field. Unlike most marines, a few actually enjoyed the drills against the opposing nations despite losing nearly every single time.

The UNAS's JSF would always win every single raid or infiltration exercise since they specialized in stealth and robotics. Europe's Enforcer Corps were unrivaled in urban warfare, often employing high tech weapons to win the day. The New Chinese Republic Army won due to one thing: numbers. No matter how many times Williams' men would think they've taken out the majority of the NCRA's men, they would often get a rude awakening when hundreds of more infantry and vehicles will flank or ambush them. And finally there was the worst of the bunch, Russia's Spetsnaz Guard Brigade. Williams couldn't blame his men for the slight fear they had of the SGB. They were intimidating as they were ruthless. In fact most of the time Williams had to deal with several of his men being seriously injured. The SGB's insanely durable and monstrous vehicles made any mock armored assaults one-sided. However, with a possible tropical storm heading towards the city those exercises might have to be put on hold.

Hearing the doors opened, Williams turned and saw his Chief of Staff, Colonel Albert Matthews, walking in. Compared to Williams the colonel was very young, barely thirty –five years old and showing no signs of elderly age. The men would often tease the colonel, claiming the general was old enough to be his father. Having a higher sense of professionalism, Matthews merely ignored the jabs and focused on more important matters at hand such as keeping the base secured. Prior to being a senior officer, Matthews had served in various tours as a N5 Marine and was more than qualified for his job as a result.

"Good morning colonel," Williams said, holding out a hand as Matthews approached him.

Matthews shook it and gave a crisp salute before informing the general of any violations committed by the men.

"Any reprimands that I need to give out?" Williams asked.

"Sergeant Baker got himself into trouble again last night," Matthews said, handing the report to Williams, whom took it from Matthews' hands.

"I heard." Jack Baker had been one of the most inspirational sergeants Williams had under his command. This came about from the sergeant's good humor, exciting stories, and the constant thrashing of Alliance commanders and politicians. As a result Baker's career stagnated, which seemed to suit him just fine. "Was it serious?" Williams asked.

"No. Just a mild case of verbally abusing a waiter at a bar, who advised him to call it a night," Matthews answered. "I really wish you'd listen to my reports and replace him, sir."

"Matthews, he is a good leader and well liked by everyone at the base. Hell the new recruits worship him. I know he is going through a divorce, but is it affecting his professional duties?"

"No," Matthews admitted. "But sir, he…"

"I'll have a few words with him," Williams cut him off. "But I am not going to put one of my best sergeants on a shuttle home over a few loose words."

"Yes, sir." There were times when the general's commitment to his men clashed with his commander's professionalism. Williams was far too soft to be a feared commander, in fact he was a beloved one. True, he demanded and received high standards of training and discipline, but Williams saw his men as human beings with real world problems not as machines. So long as uniforms were squared away, bunks were made, PT performances were above satisfactory standards, and proper respect paid to officers, then anything else went. Drugs, which impaired a soldier's psychosis, were an obvious big no, but safe ones like marijuana were allowed. Alcohol was also available once duty hours were finished. Garrison life was boring, so the troops needed some entertainment to pass the time.

As Chief of Staff, Matthews was responsible for making sure all officers and troopers in the division met and maintained the standards expected of an Alliance soldier. It was a huge undertaking, but one he was able to perform with speed, pride, and efficiency. A major downside was that sometimes he just couldn't to his job. True, Sergeant Baker was an above standard NCO, but his attitude was unbecoming of an Alliance marine.

Sighing, Matthews dropped the topic. "By the way sir, Captain Wang has informed me that the _SSV Nagasaki_ will be departing from Arcturus Station with science research vessels to open the local dormant relay. Alliance Parliament believes that there might be more rich mineral worlds out there. The _SSV Mars, Minotaur, Thor, and Poseidon_ will be accompanying the cruiser and science vessels as escorts." Matthews informed the general as they walked out of the building.

"I wish them luck," Williams said as he looked up at the early morning sky. The sun was beginning to shine on the horizon. "Activating a dormant relay would be a massive step forward in our colonial expansion. Who knows what new worlds it could open up?"

"I share your enthusiasm, sir. Just as long as nothing goes wrong."

"What can go wrong? At worst, the scientists would just make the Relay even more unresponsive."

"Or make contact with an alien race and start an intergalactic war," Matthews joked. "Something like that would make life here a whole lot more interesting." He said, looking around the lifeless base.

"No thanks," Williams breathed in easy. "I would be happy not to do a job I am not being paid for. That's what the Frontier divisions are for."

"I guess you are right," Matthews said as they continued walking towards the barracks, intent on waking the men up.

* * *

 _ **SSV Nagasaki**_

 **Cruiser**

 **Command Deck**

 **Arcturus Station**

"Arcturus control, this is the _SSV Nagasaki_ , requesting permission to disengage airlock," the helmsman said, finishing all the preflight diagnostics.

Weighing in at over 450,000 displacement tons, the _Nagasaki_ was a well armored, ship of the line missile cruiser shielded with sturdy kinetic barriers. Armed with numerous broadside and point defense guns, the ship was an admirable foe in melee combat. The massive swarms of missiles the ship could unleash promised to overwhelm even the best of GARDIAN defense systems. It had matched speed and armor while maintaining a sizable complement of bombers, fighters, ground vehicles, and marines. Overall the _Nagasaki_ was a formidable warship, one that you wouldn't send on a babysitting run.

The _Alrok Skrimish,_ the expedition's lead science vessel, was a sharp contrast to the _Nagasaki's_ sleek and menacing design. In fact it looked like a flying lumbering warehouse. The _Alrok Skrimish_ was composed of a series of large cylinders arrayed around a central core with the drives and fuel cells on one end and the cockpit on the other. The sluggish ship was far from pretty, but it seemed to get the job done. Of course, one would think the lead science vessel that was considered the poster ship for a new age of human colonization efforts would be designed with some anesthetics in mind.

"SSV Nakasaki _, Arcturs control. Permission granted, starting demagnetization procedures of suckers from one to five. Be advised, there is a large number of freighters on route 275, it is advisable to divert to route 315."_ The flight traffic controller said.

"Solid copy, inserting new route 315. _SSV Nagasaki_ , out." The helmsman closed the communication link to the spaceport control and opened a ship wide one. "Attention all crew, prepare for takeoff procedures."

From the reinforced glass in the cockpit one could fully see the first maglock and half of the second firmly anchored to the hull as the element zero engines were powered down. This prevented the ship from falling or being pulled into a planet's strong magnetic field. With a whistle and the leakage of compressed air from the moorings, the suction cups began to tilt upwards to reach a ninety degree angle. When the display signaled that both sides were free, the pilot activated the maneuver thrusters and guided the _Nagasaki_ away from the station's docking bay, turning the ship and inserting route 315 with only half power to the engines.

"All hands, this is Commander Hackett." The light cruiser's CO stood on the bridge of his ship. "We have a very important mission assigned to us today. We are to guard the _Alrok Skrimish_ and her accompanying science vessels. Today, we begin investigating the possibility of actually activating a dormant Mass Relay."

Everyone from the engineers to the marines perked their ears up at the news. It meant something different to each of them. To the marines, it meant more worlds to find and explore. To the navigators, it meant untold wonders and challenges of deep space exploration. To the engineers…well they immediately started complaining about the extra workload.

"I'm not going to waste your time with a fancy speech," Hackett continued. "But suffice to say, this will be a great adventure that won't be forgotten by anyone here. If we find a colony you will be recorded as the discovers of it. I cannot tell you how imperative it is that nothing goes wrong in this expedition. Now any questions?" He asked.

An ensign raised his hand, and Hackett gave permission for his subordinate to speak. "Sir, what happens if we find nothing?"

"Then you get recorded for finding jack shit, sailor," Hackett answered with a devilish smile. Several crewmen laughed at the ensign's expense, who shrunk in his chair with his cheeks burning bright red.

"Any other questions?" Hackett asked, clearly amused from the last question he was asked. When no on raised their hands, he continued speaking. "We have four destroyers as escorts so don't get panicked over not having enough men or supplies," he said eyeing the command deck. "Now, I want everyone ready when we arrive at Shanxi."

Once he had delivered his orders, Hackett walked towards the pilot, who seemed to hear him coming.

"Commander Hackett." The helmsman greeted.

"How're you doing, Rostov?" He replied, ranking next to the helm.

"Everything is green and performance is at stellar standards. We'll rendezvous with the 98th scout detachment in less than half an hour, commander," Rostov informed him. Rostov's nimble hands danced on the holographic screens in front of him with remarkable accuracy. His thin fingers knew exactly which buttons to push to make up for the power or the weight of the ship. His assignment was possibly the most important task on the ship, after the CO's of course.

"Very well lieutenant. Call me when Shanxi's control contacts us."

"Aye, commander."

Hackett turned around and went back to the CIC of the ship. The crew was relaxed, the sailors were at their stations, and the officers were at the center of the room, analyzing data and discussing the details of the next mission, which everyone knew little or nothing about. A large board, showing various interfaces and data screens assisted the officers in rapidly sending data to each other and other crewmen. The commander was heading to his command post when he heard his name called on the ship's intercom.

 _"Commander Hackett, Admiral Spencer wants to confer with you. He's online in the QEC."_

 _'Ah, fantastic.'_ He thought.

"I'm coming, tell him I'll be there soon."

 _"As you wish, sir."_

The commander stepped off the podium in front of the galactic map and headed for the QEC room. The QEC was a system recently invented by the most brilliant scientists of the Alliance that allowed any settlement or vessel to remain in touch with their superiors at any time, even while traveling through a portal or in FTL. The only problem was that communications would only work if both contacts had the same frequency and channels. This meant that apart from Alliance ships or stations, no one else could send messages to the _Nagasaki._

Hackett walked into a white-light room; having several wires trailed all over the walls, which were used to amplify the signal's strength. The walls were curved, having a silver color. He walked towards the exact center of the room, where on the floor, a circle with a diameter of at least two meters had been traced. Once in the center of the circle, he was enveloped in a dense, white, holographic grid that covered him from head to toe.

All of a sudden he was no longer on just standing on his ship, but his hologram projected a dark room, lit only by the faint light coming from the windows, enacted by the rays of light reflected from a gas giant nearby. A single figure stood in the room, his stance showing high authority.

The commander ran his hand over the four silver bars on his uniform and settled his hat, then snapped to attention. "Admiral Spencer, sir!"

The figure, a man in his seventies grizzled and hard-featured, stepped forward and out of the darkness, allowing Hackett to see him in the light. He had the classic navy white uniform with four gold bars on the shoulders and numerous ribbons and medals on the right pectoral. He too stood at attention.

" _Commander Hackett. As you were."_ Even though both men were separated by over hundreds of light years, Spencer's words were clearly heard by Hackett, almost as if they were in the exact same room.

Hackett relaxed a moment, spreading his legs and putting his hands behind his back while pulling out his chest, "I am at your orders, sir."

 _"Relax, Steven. You do not mind if I call you Steven, do you?"_

Hackett shook his head, having no intention in making the admiral uncomfortable when the older man addressed him.

 _"I guess you want to know the reason for this call?"_ The admiral asked him.

"Yes, sir."

" _I'll be frank with you, commander. During your Alliance training you qualified as the best in your class, and it is still a mystery how you accomplished the test of the_ SSV Coulomb _. Not to mention your impeccable record, with not even a breach of protocol. In short, you're a champion, one in a million soldier of the Alliance."_

Hackett remained impassive from the admiral's praise, but inside it was like he was smiling. Only four have ever managed to pass the test of the _Coulomb_ and as a result Hackett had been guaranteed a rank promotion to staff lieutenant once he graduated from the Alliance academy on Earth.

"I am honored that you think so, sir."

 _"You deserve it. It ain't just me, kid. Even high command thinks the same and we've decided that you were the best man to lead this mission."_ The admiral said. Beside Spencer, a map of the known galaxy appeared, with a magnification on Shanxi's system. " _This is Shanxi, your destination. Once you reach the system. Your job is to take the lead of the science flotilla traveling with you and cruise through the Relay."_

Hackett was confused. Shanxi was stationed near a dormant secondary Relay, meaning that it was connected to an unknown number of other secondary Relays across numerous uncharted systems. He understood the necessity in ensuring the scientific vessels had an armed escort, but taking them through the Relay put them in unnecessary danger.

"I do not understand, sir. I have always believed that the Alliance had no credible intel on the system connected to Shanxi's Relay. Is there something beyond it that we should know about?" Hackett could sense something was amiss, whether he had the clearance to find out was a mystery.

 _"And there's the interesting part. By analyzing the Mars archives, our scientists and AIs have been able to begin mapping the locations of several primary and secondary Relays. The study of the Prothean data showed that the Relay at Shanxi is actually a primary Relay, as opposed to what we believed to have been a secondary one. This means that we can use it to further expand our territory."_ The admiral explained.

 _'It makes sense.'_ _Hackett thought, soaking in the information._

"Why Shanxi, sir?"

" _Because it was and still is the first dormant Relay that we found to be a primary rather than a secondary_. _The real reason for this expedition unfortunately, is economic and political."_ The admiral answered.

"Sir? Since when do we work for corporations?" Hackett asked.

" _Ever since they threatened to cut the supply of military equipment and pass them onto national governments if we don't start a new campaign of expansion by the end of the fiscal year. By signing the Systems Alliance charter in 2090, national governments have accepted us as the United Nations' replacement as the exploratory and colonial organization of humanity. If corporations refuse to work with us and start addressing national governments to make their own interests, then our role could be jeopardized. We have been humanity's referee for sixty-six years now. Our goal is to avoid a potential interstellar war at all costs. The third world war already fractured us too much and we don't need a worse one to completely destroy ourselves_." The admiral explained, showing a rare moment of emotion and remembering the countless dead of the last world war.

What the admiral said was true, the old grudges of the third world war did not end alongside the war nearly seventy years ago. The four mega powers of Earth were just waiting for the right opportunity to jump at each other's throats for a second time. The UNAS and European Federation were eyeing the vast amount of resources the Russian Federation and the New Chinese Republic possessed, and the two Asian countries were fiercely determined to protect their vast resources. The discovery of the Mars Archives managed to somewhat unite the human race and it led to the creation of the Alliance. It was all that kept the four powers from starting another war. In fact it was the lack of cooperation between the four powers that slowed down human expansion as they would often bicker over who would colonize newly discovered worlds.

Up until now, the majority of human colonization had been focused on nearby systems around the Charon relay. Places like Terra Nova, Eden Prime, Benning, Demeter, and even Shanxi had already boasted growing populations. In addition to the eighteen garden worlds under the protection of the Systems Alliance Navy, there were dozens of other systems that held mining and industrial colonies, research outposts, and space stations. As of now the Systems Alliance Colonization Agency had almost two _billion_ applicants for colony ships and with the human population reaching forty billion, it wasn't hard to find the demand for continued expansion into other colony worlds. The current priority was to locate and claim any garden worlds expedition teams could find. Worlds that couldn't support human populations, but held an abundance of minerals were semi-terra formed and corporations began immediate extraction. Relay clusters weren't too high on the list, ironic as they were needed for long distance travel, however the Systems Alliance navy would gain control of the area and begin construction of space stations and ship yards.

If there was good thing the bickering between the nations on Earth did, it was that it had prevented the Alliance navy from being stretched thin. Following the terrorist attacks by the Hades Hounds in 2137, the Alliance became aware of the risks of being under manned. As a result colonization efforts had been slowed, the Alliance focusing on building up colonies rather than claiming every little world out in space. Hackett understood the Alliance's concerns, the fleet back then was just over half of what it is today. Of course corvettes and frigates made up over 50% of Alliance combat vessels, but the navy did posses a considerable amount of destroyers and cruisers for heavy naval engagements. Though now things had changed, with over four thousands combat ships under its control, humanity believed it was ready to deal with whatever threats lurked in the shadows of space. Hackett could only hope humanity's pride in itself wouldn't be its downfall.

" _Hopefully one day the four nations can call a truce, but until then we have to make sure they play nice with each other."_ The admiral's words brought Hackett back to reality. Being an accomplished officer, Hackett made sure not give away any indication that he had momentarily zoned out

"Understood, sir."

 _"Perfect. Complete this mission successfully and you will probably have some doors opened for you."_

Hackett melted in front of the prospect. He still needed to get experience under his belt, but if things went right he could be an admiral in the navy within 20 years.

Suddenly the light in the room dimmed and both men turned towards the large panoramic window on the brown gas giant. " _Oh, just in time._ " Spencer said, waving Hackett to turn around without fear.

The darkness in the room was caused by the passage of a small portion of the Fifth Fleet, positioned to defend Arcturus and Earth. The impressive flagship of the fleet, the _SSV_ _Tesla_ _super carrier_ , was one of the most powerful warships in the entire human fleet. Built with the characteristic delta shape of Alliance ships, it contained six element zero engines and three linear parallel hangars, the center one reaching the entire ship's length, housing several fighters, bombers, marines, supplies, and even smaller warships such as corvettes or frigates. It was the pride of the Fifth Fleet, and merely seeing it Hackett could already imagine himself in command of such a large and prestigious warship. Several smaller ships such as cruisers, destroyers, and frigates cruised alongside the flagship, serving as the super carrier's escorts and guards.

" _It's beautiful, isn't it? They completed it only last year_."

Hackett was stunned at the magnificence of the vessel. "If ... if we're done sir, I should prepare my ship."

" _Of course commander. I don't want to steal any more time. Spencer out._ " With that, Hackett saw the admiral reaching for a panel in front of him and seconds later his holographic image disappeared from the room.

The white grid was still disappearing from the body of the commander when Rostov called him on the intercom. _"Staff Lieutenant Rostov to Commander Hackett, sir we have exited FTL and we have the 98_ _th_ _detachment in sight."_

"Inform Shanxi Control and the 98th of our arrival and set course for the Relay at top speed."

 _"Yes, sir."_

Hackett left the QEC room and made his way back to the bridge. Within minutes he once again back on the command deck. Walking to the command stage, placed before the galaxy map in the CIC, Hackett was stationed amongst his men while they continued working on their consoles. His assistant, Chief Petty Officer Martinez, was at his control desk and was analyzing some files pertaining to the mission. "So we have a Relay to study?"

"Correct. ETA on the Relay?"

"According to Lieutenant Hendley's estimates, we should arrive within ten minutes maximum. We can try a short FTL jump, but drift is estimated to be 30,000 kilometers." Martinez said, referring to the ship's ability to bypass secondary Relays over short distances. This meant that while Alliance fleets weren't totally reliant on the Mass Relays, they were still needed to travel long distances.

"Too risky. Maintain course and speed." Hackett ordered.

"Aye, sir."

Despite their advancements, numerous conspiracy theories asserted that national governments already knew of methods for faster than light travel. There was some truth to it as both the UNAS and European Federation managed to create their own versions of FTL, however this was after the discovery and decoding of the Archives. While some believed humanity could have avoided element zero technology altogether, the sad truth was that without the Prothean Archives, humanity would be in serious trouble by now.

In less than a lifetime humanity's technology had made a giant leap forward by at least three hundred years. Things that were once considered science fiction had become reality. Most of the diseases that had plagued the 20th century disappeared or were in the progress of vanishing. Gene therapy had eliminated many defects and managed to enhance human capabilities beyond any previously known limit. The fortunate discoveries of numerous planets with large element zero deposits during the first wave of colonization, led by Jon Grissom, had launched humanity to its true golden age. Hunger and poverty were low, wars were less frequent and shorter than ever before, and much of humanity had progressed through social taboos. Flourishing colonies across the galaxy fueled humanity's progress.

"How are your relatives, Martinez?" Hackett asked.

"Fine, sir. Although I don't believe that one of the most influential families of Terra Nova took well to their eldest son enlisting in the navy, instead of getting a degree in economics," he joked. Like many crew members, including Rostov, Martinez was a colonial. Unlike Rostov born and raised on Belogorsk, a major industrial colony of the Russian Federation located in the Horse Head Nebula, Martinez was the son of the most important banker of Terra Nova, Hugo Martinez.

"But as soon as I get promoted to lieutenant, they'll rethink about."

"Wait and see, Martinez. The road to becoming an officer isn't easy." Hackett warned him, knowing all too well of the requirements and expectations.

"Your service record makes it look easy, sir. I'd give anything to have your abilities."

"Work hard and focus on your goals, that is the secret," the commander told him. "Though a little luck won't hurt."

"Yes, sir."

Hackett walked over his command chair in front of the podium and sat down. Tapping a few panels on the screen in front of him, the galactic map disappeared, replaced by a three-dimensional representation of the cruiser.

"The engine is running at full speed and the engineers aren't reporting any failures. The maneuver nozzles are working properly. Kinetic barriers are up 100%, emergency generators ready in case of any problems. Weapons systems online: GARDIAN defenses, missiles, and mass accelerator cannon are fully charged." A navigator informed Hackett as he read the status on the ship.

Hackett nodded at the navigator, satisfied with the ship's condition. He brought the galaxy map up again and eyed their location. As they approached the Relay, it enveloped more and more of the window in front of him.

' _This is it.'_ Hackett thought as they closed the final distances between them and the Relay.

* * *

 _ **SSV Tampa**_

 **Cruiser**

 **Command Deck**

 **Obit over Shanxi**

Space, the final frontier people called it. For some it was the greatest accomplishment mankind had ever achieved. For others it was another way to get rich. For Commander David Dain it was just another frontline, which he and several commanders had to fight in order to protect humanity. At twenty two years old he was the youngest naval commander to operate a cruiser, which was usually reserved for captains twice his age. Holding such a position at such a young age was as rare as an enlisted Alliance sailor becoming an admiral. Most commanders received training at military academies before being offered such a position; however Dain had proven to be an exception, displaying tactical ingenuity and swiftly rising through the ranks as a result.

Sitting in his commander's chair on the bridge overlooking his crew, Dain felt a deep sense of pride. Most of them had been in the Alliance navy far longer than he had and they still respected him as a captain would be despite only being a commander.

Dain was assigned to the 98th scout detachment, which consisted of 1 carrier, 4 cruisers, 16 destroyers, 8 frigates, and 10 corvettes from the 11th fleet. They were on constant patrol, jumping from Relay to Relay in the systems nearby ensuring that the four colonies along their route were safe and secured. Normally patrols would only last for a few weeks before being rotated, but being on the outskirts of Alliance controlled space meant they had to endure shorter patrol routes with longer durations.

"Shanxi Command, this is Commander Dain of the _SSV Tampa_ reporting in," he said, taking a sip of coffee. To him it tasted like treated waste water, bitter and nauseating, a sign of the Alliance stingy pockets. Aside from the taste, it did cause a person to become alert without being dehydrated as they would with higher quality coffee. It was designed by the ADA, Alliance Drug Associated, and contained several vitamins an individual person would need in the morning.

' _I guess they forgot about flavor,'_ Dain thought to himself.

"SSV Tampa _, this is Shanxi command reading you loud and clear over."_

"What is the ETA of the _SSV Nagasaki_ and its escorts?"

" _They are about…whoa!_ SSV Tampa _, the expedition flotilla has just arrived."_

Dain, and several other crewmen, perked up at the news. "Shanxi command, can you confirm _?"_

" _Aye, your radar should be picking them right about now."_

"Commander, we have confirmation of the _SSV Nagasaki's_ and its escorts' arrival. They're heading towards the Relay now," Lindholm said. Headstrong, determined, and calm under pressure, Lindholm was an outstanding ensign, one that any commander would be proud of.

"Sir, Captain Wang is on the line," informed Selene. She was the ship's AI and assisted with multiple functions pertaining to the ship's performance.

"Put him on," Dain ordered.

All throughout the ship's speakers the captain's voice rang out. " _All ships, this is Captain Wang speaking. The_ SSV Nagasaki _and its escorts have just arrived and are heading towards the Relay at top speed. This is it people, I want everyone ready."_

The rectangular bridge of Commander Dain's ship was silenced as everyone held their breath. In front of him was a map of known human space, a 'star-chart' as it was commonly was called. It was two-dimensions in appearance, unlike the 3-D holographic images found on more modern ships, primarily carriers. It was essential tool as it was responsible for notifying a ship where it was heading. On both of Dain's sides were walkways leading to the navigation center and to the elevator behind him. Next to the walkways were sections that held several communications, sonars, terminals, computers, and consoles all designed to receive and transmit data.

Commander Dain saw, on a screen directly in front of him, an image of the _SSV Nagasaki_ and its escorts arriving at the Relay. The massive object made him feel small when he looked at it, even if he was in an Alliance cruiser, which had several deadly weapons to deal with threats.

" _To all ships, we have arrived at the Relay. Science vessels are attempting to activate the Relay…stand by,"_ Commander Hackett said over the QEC.

A half hour later after the commander's detachment-wide declaration, the Relay in front of them began to activate, a massive blue orb erupting into a ball of energy. As the massive rings kept the energy contained, they began rotating around each other. Even though Mass Relays were the main source of long-range FTL, Dain still knew little about how they worked. He remembered something about dark matter being the fundamental property, but he knew even less about that. He stood, along with several crewmen, as the _Nagasaki_ neared the Relay.

As the _SSV Nagasaki_ and its escorts headed towards the Mass Relay, Dain felt a cold feeling run down his spine. When the _Nagasaki_ entered the gate's radius, large swaths of blue electricity arced to the ship. As the ship continued down the gate's length, more energy connected to the ship, until after a few moments, it was catapulted forward at several light-years a second.

It was hard to describe the feeling of going through FTL via the Mass Relays. It was a sensation that constantly filled one's head. There wasn't a particular feeling per say when jumping from one system to another…but your body, your mind all felt different in the span of a few seconds. If Dain had to describe how being catapulted from a Mass Relay felt, he would respond with vertigo. However, after a while the feeling slowly begins to fade as you make more and more trips through them. It was very similar to adrenaline, once you feel it coursing through your body for the first time it never really feels the same again.

" _Alliance 98_ _th_ _scout detachment, this is the_ SSV Nagasaki _. We have arrived at the new system, safe and sound,"_ Declared the _Nagasaki's_ own AI. The crewmen on the bridge erupted into cheers and joy as they heard the good news. " _Activating scanner for any sign of habitable planets or nearby systems."_

"Selene, open up communications with the other ships in Hackett's flotilla. Make sure everything is okay," Ordered Dain as he calmly sat back in his chair.

"Alliance and scientific vessels are responding, everything is green." The AI responded.

"Are you receiving any data from Commander Hackett's AI?"

"Yes, commander. Receiving scanned data… wait a moment." Selene's tone made Dain a little worried.

"Selene, what is going on?"

"Sir, there is another Relay at the opposite end of the system's star. This one is showing active power signatures."

"What!?" Dain was suddenly alert. "What does that mean?" He asked, fear creeping up on his spine with all the subtlety of a water balloon.

"Aside from signaling that it is active, the Relay's state indicates it has been used continuously," Selene answered

"Is the rest of the attachment getting this?"

"Yes, sir. Captain Wang has ordered Hackett's ships to fall back. He is contacting Alliance command as we speak."

"Good. Was there anyone else in the system with Hackett's ships?" What Dain really meant was 'Is there alien life out there?' It was then Dain realized that not only was the bridge deathly quiet, every crewmember was staring at Selene as if she were a deity.

"Hackett's AI detected no traces of radiation or active eezo signatures in the system. But nearby planets are showing signs of static electrical discharge."

"Sir, Captain Wang has just instructed all other navy vessels to be on standby and ready for combat at a moment's notice. He is also informing General Williams of the situation." Lindholm explained.

"Understood. Helmsman take us into formation," Dain ordered.

"Yes, sir." The pilot responded.

Five minutes later, Hackett's ships arrived and began falling back into position with the detachment. The captain specifically ordered the science vessels not to stray too close to the Relay, much to their dissatisfaction. Still, the scientists were able to deploy several probes, which would gather preliminary data on it. Though any Relay could have been used in other Alliance held systems, never had scientists managed to get data on a previously dormant one. Dain tried to read incoming data from a probe, but found his head spinning after the first few sentences. The young commander wasn't stupid by any means, however advanced particle and molecular physics were something far beyond his level of education.

Several hours passed by, the young commander could almost feel his face getting wrinkles from the stressful anticipation. To say he was bored would have been an understatement, but he wouldn't say so or show it, maintaining his upright posture and stoic expression. He couldn't wait for his patrol to be over and take a vacation as a reward for taking this assignment.

"Commander!" Roared the synthetic voice of Selene, suddenly the commander realized there were several people calling his name; the AI had gotten through to him by using the phone in his pocket's speaker.

"What? What's wrong?"

"A dozen contacts have just exited the Relay, and have detected us. They are on an intercept course and Captain Wang has ordered all ships to power up their shields and ready their weapons." The AI informed him. "Update, new contacts, previous approximates wrong, estimated fifty vessels, two of which are battle cruiser class."

"You heard the lady, divert all engine power to shields and ready weapons. This may get ugly." Dain ordered. In front of him, several crewmen jumped on their tasks coordinating with each other and relaying new data.

"Selene, are they friendly?" Dain asked the AI.

"Unknown. They have shown no signs of hostilities nor do they match any known Alliance signatures."

"Wait, what?"

"They are not human, commander."

Several of the longest, most silent seconds in human history passed as the captain digested this information. "Are you saying…that this is…first contact scenario?" He almost whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Yes. Captain Wang is hailing the ships and has delivered the first contact package." No human in history had ever been given an official order to prepare the First Contact package, drills had been run and scenarios tested, but never once in humanity's space-faring history have they ever truly had to execute it. Dain cleared his throat and awaited for further orders, the bridge once again became deathly quiet.

As the commander waited for Selene to bring up the ship's scanners and any relevant information regarding the alien's ships, he thought of the First Contact package. In essence, it was a video greeting, recording a 'welcome to Earth' on several key societal locations upon said planet. It would have shown cheerful images of peace, friendship, love and brotherhood so as to suggest the same to whatever aliens humanity may meet. Literal years had been spent after the Alliance's initial extra solar colonization on what exactly should be put in the message, some had argued to put mathematical formulae to show our advanced state, while others had stressed we show our military to represent strength and honor. In the end, the current FCP had been decided upon and once every ten years it was updated to show a modern humanity.

' _Good god…actual aliens!'_ Thought Dain as he sunk in what was happening: First Contact. _The_ First Contact! It wasn't with just any primitive race, oh no it was with another space faring one. He couldn't believe he was among the first humans to actually discover another space faring race. Suddenly, Dain wanted his species to have a military five times stronger and larger than what it currently had. If the aliens proved hostile, he wished they would mistake Shanxi, having a population of two billion, to be their homeworld. That would give any Alliance reinforcements the element of surprise.

Although it had been colonized for almost twenty years by all four mega-powers, Shanxi didn't boast much of a military presence from the System's Alliance Army, nor did it have a major naval base nearby. The colonists preferred to believe the presence of the Big Four and their WMDs were enough to deter any pirates from invading or raiding the planet, and it had worked since its founding. Alliance Parliament had tried to convince each of the Big Four governments to permit more than three Alliance marine home divisions and allow the Systems Alliance Navy to construct a rather large naval base in orbit. But the Big Four refused, stating that the six million soldiers between each of them and the Alliance was more than enough to repel a ground invasion and that their WMDs could easily decimate a pirate fleet. Dain knew the Big Four weren't wrong, they each had an impressive force, but he'd be naïve to believe that their decision solely came about confidence. The sad truth was that the Big Four, partially in spite for forcing each of them to cooperate with each other, were basically putting up the middle finger up to the Alliance. If there was one thing the Big Four did agree on, it was each of them hated the Alliance's interference more than they did each other.

' _I can only imagine what the crew is thinking…'_ He thought. Getting impatient from waiting on Selene to bring up the scanning data, he brought it up himself. Replacing the 2D map of the star system with scans that were currently available, Dain skimmed through it and only eyed the most important data.

A sea of yellow dots that spewed from the Relay were now holding position near it, the scans giving the commander a real time layout of the system. In total the Alliance had forty four ships in the system, six less than what the aliens had. The 98th were outnumbered, but luckily not by a lot. Now outgunned was a different scenario altogether. The battlecruisers would be first priority if the opposing fleet turned hostile. Dain could only hope that their weapons would do serious damage if this became a massive naval battle. It was then that he realized if hostilities did break out, this would be humanity's first time standing against an alien force and would be the first of possibly many engagements.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" He whispered to himself.

* * *

 _ **RCS Iron Clad**_

 **Battle cruiser**

 **Command Deck**

 _Enemies are temporary, but friends are forever. Let us embrace that which we do not know so that we may gain knowledge in it. Let us embrace the darkness of space so that our future may be bright. Let us welcome our enemies so that we may be friends._ An ancient Raloi philosopher had once said.

Admiral Bane Talal thought of these words as his ship, the _Iron Clad,_ hurtled towards the newly discovered Mass Relay at speeds never before imagined in Raloi science. Not even a century had passed since they'd discovered a Prothean beacon on their moon, Aquar. It jumped their technological level by centuries, allowing them to create FTL travel and colonize other worlds in their systems. So far they've only managed to colonize seven colonies outside of their local system, and the Raloi government was seeking to expand their territory in the hopes of finding another functioning beacon. Even if their sensors, armor, and weapons were primitive in comparison to the engineering marvel of the Relays, Talal hoped to one day live to see the day when his species would find other races and teach them the greatness of the Protheans.

The massive, looming Mass Relay seemed to cast an ever-present shadow over the raloi battle group. Whatever great marvels lay on the other side of the Relays, Talal would be the one to lead his race to the great discoveries. After jumping through several Relays, which lead them to this previously unknown system, they were disappointed to only find a few gas giants. It was just like the previous three systems, barren and lacking any garden worlds. But what caught everyone's eye was the discovery of yet another Relay and not wanting to return back to his people with empty hands, Admiral Talal ordered his ships forward.

"All great journeys begin with a single step," Talal said softly before his ship was catapulted forth by the Mass Relay, hope reigning deep inside that something of great interest awaited on the other side.

Talal stood at the helm of his massive expedition battle group of fifty ships, which was half of the 6th fleet, as it was among the first to enter the border-system between charted and uncharted space. From here, it was a single FTL-to-Relay jump to uncharted space, unclaimed worlds, and undiscovered secrets.

However, as the same Raloi philosopher had once said, _The mysteries of space are only matched by their wonders._

"Admiral Talal!" Loudly, urgently, yelled an ensign.

"Yes? What is it?" The admiral asked, looking around the dimly lit bridge to find the junior officer that had spoken up.

"I've detected something on the scanner, upon second glance; it looks like a battle group composed of forty four ships." The raloi officer reported.

"Did we send anyone ahead of the battle group to scout the system?" Talal asked calmly.

"No sir. It's neither a raloi patrol nor merchant vessels. We were the only ones scheduled to survey systems for this quarter."

"Then who is it?"

"Hold on … I've pinged their ships, but the scans are coming up negative. They're not anything we've seen before." The officer looked up from his terminal to the admiral. "They are not built on Raloi specifications, sir. The scanners can only identify that the ships are heavily armed and their kinetic barriers are fully powered. Everything else is a mystery…what is this sir?"

The admiral was silent for many moments. All Raloi starships had a complete listing of the sensor data and information of every type of vessel in service. To find a battle group of unknown ships, numbering nearly as his known, meant only one thing … this was first contact.

Admiral Talal thought of the implications of this discovery. Statistics had once said that there could be anywhere from millions to billions of species out in space, but as raloi colonization expanded into other star systems and the only races discovered were plant and primitive wild life everyone assumed that the raloi alone were the only space-faring race in the galaxy. He saw his crew, the bridge dead silent as he stared out in front of him, looking to him for guidance. A determined scowl was hidden by his stoic face. _'I will not fail my crew.'_

"This is First Contact," Talal said out loud to his crew. The entire deck became shocked at his words.

"Have the VI plug my ship into the rest of the battle group. Send a message to Rear Admiral Mal, requesting a few cruisers to accompany us as we investigate. Approach the contacts slowly so as to not startle them. Have the barriers up just in case they are aggressive. I cannot tell you all how delicate this situation is."

"Understood, sir."

"Sir, Rear Admiral Mal said he can spare six cruisers, is that satisfactory?" Asked a new voice, this one feminine and younger.

"Yes, Noka. Thank Rear Admiral Mal for me."

"Yes, sir."

Several minutes passed, as the _Iron Clad_ led a pack of six naval vessels towards the unidentified contacts.

"Admiral, we're being hailed; it's a video and an audio message."

"Bring it on screen." Ordered the perplexed admiral.

A moment later, an image appeared on the ship's main vid-screen, it depicted some sort of bi-pedal mammalian with two forward placed eyes and fur on the top of its rounded head. It possessed five fingers on each hand that lacked any claws.

" _My name is Captain Wang of the_ SSV Einstein _, of the Human Systems Alliance,"_ the alien said in an unidentifiable language. " _We come in peace, and we do not seek hostilities of any kind. I hope your species and ours can coexist."_ The bridge was silent, as the next video file loaded up.

"What do you think it said?" Asked one raloi.

"Is this really first contact?" Another asked.

"Tell us this a joke being played, admiral." One almost begged.

"Shush, something else is playing!"

A new video appeared of different locations on a planet. Different types of architecture, bodies of water, buildings which seemed to be landmarks or places of importance played out. It changed to show different people within the alien society. Finally it changed to show several other aliens coexisting with others. One showed a four-legged animal with paws, a tail, forward eyes, and short pointy ears. It stood at three feet tall on all four legs and several pictures showed it with the aliens, which appeared to be hugging and showing compassion for one another. Another picture showed another four-legged creature, but shorter, longer, and more menacing. Its entire body was armored with scales; it had several teeth and appeared to be able to walk on land and swim in water. It was a reptile of some sort, some appearing to reach twenty feet in length.

"What are they showing us?" The pilot asked.

"Their homeworld and the creatures that live on it," the admiral realized as he saw the skyline of a beautiful, massive city. The image zoomed out and was replaced by an enormous statue, presumably an important figure in their society, made of some sort green material, holding a similarly colored torch of some kind in its hand.

A new image appeared, this one depicting two of the aliens embracing each other in what appeared to be a way of showing affection or intimacy. One was slightly taller than the other, had shorter hair, and was more muscular. The words ' _Male'_ appeared on top of its head. The other, smaller, more feminine alien had the words ' _Female_ '. Finally the word _'HUMAN'_ appeared on top of both of the aliens head, indicating the name of their species. More images of other humans appeared, all of different shape, sizes, and colors, embracing each other in an affectionate way or making odd facial gestures that reminded Talal of some sort of greetings. The video cut to a new feed were members of several different types of humans appeared one by one, each speaking in a different language far different than the previous.

Next the video cut to a small, silver dish. For a moment, nothing happened, but then a light blue holographic depiction of, what Talal assumed to be a female human, appeared. _"Greetings,"_ Said the hologram, " _from the Systems Alliance."_

Now, two uniformed humans appeared upon the screen. The one on the left, Talal recognized as the first alien he saw. The one on the right was holding a weapon and Talal quickly realized that it, or he based on his appearance, was some sort of honor guard, indicating that the humans were a militaristic society. That fact alone made the admiral wonder just how long the humans had been in the celestial stage of their evolution, or if this was simply a bluff. The man he was guarding had a plain white, ceremonial uniform with pieces of metal hanged on the left side.

" _Greetings, from the Human Systems Alliance. I hope we can enjoy a peaceful coexistence, we graciously await your reply,"_ said the being, in a deep, but not threatening voice. The video then ended.

"What…what was that?!" Hysterically demanded an ensign.

"Are they going to attack!?"

"What did it say?"

"What are they?"

"Everyone calm-" Attempted the admiral, but things were slowly turning into chaos.

"We're headed straight for them!"

"What if there are more?!"

"Everyone, CALM DOWN!" Talal shouted loudly, silencing the room. "Noka, prepare the ship's transmitter for a response." He ordered, clearing his throat.

"Ready."

"Greetings, my name is Bane Talal and I am an Admiral in the Raloi navy," he began, speaking slowly and clearly. "I cannot understand your language, but I hope we can establish friendly relations with our species. We are not a violent race, but we will not hesitate to defend ourselves." He looked at Noka and gave a nod. She sent the message as instructed.

"Slow the flotilla's advance and send the alien's message to Rear Admiral Mal, he'll make sure the other ships get it. Tell them that we have a first contact scenario here and no one is to look threatening. Get a call back to the Raloi Confederacy; tell them what we have found here." The Iron Clad's crew began relaying the orders as the admiral issued them.

Apart from the video, Talal had no idea if these beings were peaceful and cooperative or aggressive and warlike. If they were peaceful, the Confederacy could very well have an alliance with another space-faring race; if they were warlike then…Talal didn't want to imagine the implications. Deep down, he was hoping that he was doing the right thing for his species.

* * *

 _ **HSS Ultimate Authority**_

 **Corvette**

 **Command Deck**

Lieutenant Commander Toren was excited, no he was beyond excited, he was thrilled. He had discovered a new, young race activating a relay, possibly leading to their homeworld. Once it was confirmed that the ships were not of any known Council designations, he immediately ordered a message to be sent out to the Hegemony, the official government of the batarians. He told them of his discovery and to his joy they were not only sending a suppression fleet, but they had designated him as one of the respective leaders of said fleet. If everything went well, the Hegemony would find itself with a new source of labor and he could possibly be promoted to an Admiral and be welcomed as a hero.

"Ensign, how long before my fleet gets here?" He demanded.

"Sir, ETA is about two hours. They are being cautious to avoid any Council patrols." The ensign replied.

' _Good.'_ He thought. The last thing he needed was for the Council to start interfering with the Hegemony's business.

"Excellent. Inform me every thirty minutes of their location." He ordered.

"Yes, sir."

' _Everything is going perfectly as planned.'_ Toren smiled as he practically tasted the spoils of war this raid would bring. _'Let's hope this race's females are pleasing as the asari.'_ The man thought as he was consumed with sick and twisted desires.

* * *

 **A/N: First Contact with the Raloi, but you didn't see that coming now did you! Another original first contact scenario brought to by V-cringetorix, Andotrota, and yours truly.**


	3. Chapter 3 - Meeting of the Minds

**A/N:** Sorry for the long update guys, my internet was out for two weeks. If you haven't already check out **Early Discovery** by **V-crinetorix** and **Third World War** by **Andotrota**. Both have put in tremendous time and effort into this story and deserve equal recognition for their work.

 **Guest:** Don't worry, Toren will get what is coming to him, though not in the way you'd expect.

As for the rest of our reviewers, me or one of the authors mentioned above will contact you through PM to thank you for reading the fic so as to not fill the chapter with unnecessary feedback to other readers. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.

* * *

12-25-2156, 0832 hours (Alliance standard time)

 ** _SSV Hawking_**

 **Carrier**

 **Command Deck**

"Captain, we've received a response." The _SSV Hawking's_ resident AI declared. Only the largest Alliance ships possessed the most advanced AI's; their crews took pride in that fact, naming the artificial intelligences after notable personages. The crew had named this particular model Stephen, in light of the ship's name.

The captain's head snapped up in an instant, looking at the holographic display in front of him, surprise evident in his face. An entire childhood of growing up with hostile first-contact war scenarios had dictated _any_ extraterrestrial contact humanity would receive would be down the barrel of a gun.

"Play it immediately!" Captain Wang ordered. Despite the predictions of his youth, he was optimistic enough to believe the events occurring here had the potential to end peacefully. "What's the word on reinforcements? A peace delegate?" he asked. The standard regulations regarding First Contact were to immediately send a report to Arcturus Station, the military and political headquarters of the Alliance and Earth, with all relevant data. If contact was imminent, then the highest ranking officer within the Alliance members present was instructed to take charge of the interaction.

"The Alliance has declared Defcon-1 until further notice. A single delegate ship has departed from Arcturus station and is en route. Generals Williams, Bando, Chu, Parker, and Colonel Morgunov have all been notified of the situation and are coordinating a defensive strategy as we speak. Civilians are being evacuated, however many still remain in the cities." The AI responded without hesitation.

Captain Wang realized the wisdom in Parliament's decision; he just hoped the Alliance fleets had been notified of the situation as well. Unconsciously, he began rubbing the side of his head, the grey hairs showing his advanced age. Already fifty-three years old, Wang never guessed he would live to see alien contact. Considering the stress, he wished he hadn't.

"Scanning message for viruses. Examining language … beginning translation. Playing response." Stephen answered calmly, and within seconds, humanity received its first response from extraterrestrial life.

" _Greetings. My name is Bane Talal and I am an Admiral in the Raloi navy. I cannot understand your language, but I hope we can establish friendly relations with our species. We are not a violent race, but we will not hesitate to defend ourselves."_ The alien spoke, its rough and screech-like native language somewhat audible underneath the AI's translation. The speaker himself looked almost like a dinosaur with two legs, possessing a civilized, yet predatory appearance. If the translation had managed to convey grammatical accuracy, this being was male. His skin was dark orange and rough, similar to most reptiles on Earth. Wang noticed the irises in the speaker's eyes were grey. Their location greatly intrigued Wang as the Raloi's eyes weren't binocularly focused in the front portion of the skull, like a human's, but were placed more to the sides, giving what appeared to be 240 degree vision. A large crest jutted proudly from his head, making Wang wonder if it was used for combat or mating purposes. Like a human the alien had two arms, but instead of fingers he had five claws on each hand. Underneath the silver-grayish armor it wore, Wang could clearly see rippling muscles, suggesting that the alien was stronger than an average human.

"Holy shit the dinosaurs are still alive. Someone call a museum." A navigator said, breaking several seconds of complete silence. A series of chuckles soon followed, quickly dying out in the tense atmosphere.

"Alright, this is good," Wang said, more for his own benefit than for his crew. "They don't appear to be-" The captain began before a thought occurred to him, "Wait, Stephen do you detect any weapons charging?" He shifted his dark green eyes to the star chart in front of him, anxiously watching the small ship indicators float in place.

"No, sir. I've only detected what appear to be kinetic barriers activated. All other power signatures are linked to vital ship systems." The AI paused. "All alien ships appear to be well-armed, but none of the apparent weapons bays are charged." A few holographic projections of the alien ships appeared in the center of the viewing area, and the AI's hologram flickered slightly.

Wang nodded, "Thank you … prepare a new message, we need to keep them talking until the delegate vessel arrives. When the next message is sent, connect with the other intelligence units and create a program the aliens can use."

A comm. specialist cued the necessary arrangements for another message to be sent, before giving a nod to the captain. "Greetings," Wang began, hoping the shot in the dark would pay off. "Admiral Talal, I am glad you have not attacked. We are merely a scientific flotilla; a peace delegate is on its way and will arrive in a couple of hours." He gestured. The AI promptly created a translation and sent the message.

Within moments, Stephen had begun coordinating with the other ships' AIs to begin creating translation software for the aliens. Combining their collective processing power changed their duty from a months-long task into a work of hours.

* * *

 ** _RCS Iron Clad_**

 **Battle cruiser**

 **Command Deck**

"Sir, the battle group reports a full halt," reported a communications officer _._ "The remaining ships are taking up defensive positions on the other side of the system." A grim tone entered the officer's voice. "They won't be taken by surprise if we run into trouble."

"Sir, we've gotten a response," another officer said after a momentary pause.

"Play it." The admiral ordered, sitting down in his seat.

A few moments passed, before the same dark-skinned 'Human' from before appeared on the screen. " _Greetings, Admiral Talal, I am glad you have not attacked. We are merely a scientific flotilla; a peace delegate is on its way and will arrive in a couple of hou_ rs." The video cut after this, for several silent moments. Talal stroked his cranial ridge, slightly puzzled. He'd expected another first contact video, but there was none.

"What should we do admiral?"

Talal thought to himself for several moments, eventually making his decision. "It seems that they are not only peaceful, but are also advanced. Prepare to send a reply."

He watched the bridge crew carefully. Most were beginning to work out the reality that after a single message, the humans had managed to completely understand the Raloi language, or at the very least had managed to translate it. At his nod, the communications officer quickly did as the admiral ordered and sent a reply.

Gathering his bearings, Talal began issuing orders. "I want Rear Admiral Mal to be notified of the situation and have a message sent to Turvess, updating them as well. Order the rest of the battle group to keep their kinetic barriers active, just in case this is a ploy."

His crew obeyed, all officers within the battle group receiving the admiral's instructions and cautiously standing by within minutes. While Talal was more than eager to create diplomatic negotiations with this new race, he was highly aware of the fact that he simply knew too little of them. Even with the data packets the humans had sent him, Talal merely scratched the surface.

 _'Better not keep my counterpart waiting,'_ Talal thought, and keyed up his reply. With gratifying speed, he received a response, and soon casual messages were soon flying back and forth.

The Alliance's AIs worked overtime, trying to ensure the translation was both grammatically correct and contained no insults before sending it back to the raloi. Talal's VIs did the same, to a much lesser extent. Both commanders went into the general specifics of their mission, a brief history on their respective species, and an exaggeration on their military and economic capabilities. This went on for over ninety minutes before the raloi registered a special anomaly, coinciding with a new ship arriving on the scene. It was easily among the smallest ships in the area, a fact Talal noted with care.

"Admiral, we've received another message, this one came almost immediately after the new ship's arrival." Noka said.

"Did you detect any activity from the Relay?" Talal inquired.

"No, sir. It's odd. The Relay is powered, but it seems the ship was able to go into FTL without having to use the Mass Relay." Noka replied, confusion evident in her voice.

"So they used conventional FTL travel to arrive here? That sounds inconvenient. Why not use the Relays?" He mused. With a perfectly functioning Relay in their system, he couldn't possibly comprehend the aliens' mindset of using less-efficient forms of FTL travel. The thought made his crest itch. ' _Relays are the easiest and most cost-effective way of traveling through systems, or as far as we know. Unless … no. But … maybe?'_

"That's the thing. The Relay is showing signs of multiple uses in and out of this system. Our scans show that the Relay we used, until only recently, was dormant."

"Then they possess two methods of FTL? How is that possible?" Talal asked, his voice reaching a new pitch.

"I do not know. These aliens maybe using advanced Prothean technology or are perhaps using their own." Noka slid her talons across a groove, indicating a frustrated intellect. "My guess is they have some sort of hybrid engines that allow them to use two methods of FTL. Perhaps if we create an alliance or exchange technology we can ask."

"I see … Onew, how large is that vessel that has just arrived?" Talal asked.

"Exactly one hundred-fifty meters according to scans, though there might be a three to thirteen meters margin of error. I had to use the VI to even be able to get a lock on the ship and even then that's because I can see it on the sensors."

The admiral soaked the information in. ' _That is a very small ship. Why would they use such a ship?'_ He wondered. "Play the response." He ordered.

A video appeared on screen, very similar to the first one sent by the humans. It then showed a Galaxy Map, which zoomed in on their position, and had the small ship in between both sides, blinking constantly. The video then switched to show a white holographic image of a human male, before a message was played.

" _I, Stephen of the_ SSV Hawking _, am inviting you Admiral Talal to go aboard the delegate vessel with no more than a platoon, that's fifteen soldiers, acting as your guard. I await your response."_

Admiral Talal processed the information, weighing the potential consequences of his actions. ' _I'm allowed to board the vessel with a small security team and possibly establish relations with this race, assuming everything goes perfect. But what if I bring more than I am allowed? Will they fire on me? Or worse, see this as an act of war? There is always the possibility that this could be a trap. But then what would they gain?'_ He stared at his crew, who were waiting for his commands, his guidance. Looking back out into the void, Talal stared at the decision before him. The future of not only his crew, but potentially his entire race now rested on his shoulders. ' _It does not matter. Regardless of the outcome, the fate of my race takes far greater precedent than the safety of myself.'_ He carefully gained full control over his features, before turning around, hands clenched tightly behind his back as he exited the bridge.

"We are to depart via shuttle to the designated ship. No more than fifteen guards are to accompany me, any more and we may start a war. Inform the Rear Admiral to converge the rest of the battle group on my ship and to wait for further orders. Noka, warn the aliens that the rest of the Confederate ships will be moving towards them. From what I've seen and heard they won't mind." Talal ordered. He smiled slightly, as he made his way toward the shuttle bay, hearing his orders being broadcast to the rest of the ship, and presumably battle group. ' _If the worst happens, they have been a fine crew, one of the best I've ever served.'_

* * *

 ** _SSV Campoformio_**

 **Diplomatic Ship**

 **Private Quarters**

Systems Alliance Director of Foreign Affairs Anita Goyle was not having a good day. Immediately after being rudely awakened at an ungodly hour, she'd been told that DefCon-1 had been declared. That statement alone had done more to wake her up than a dash of espresso, and nearly gave her a heart attack. Such conditions meant that humanity was on the brink of war, usually with itself. She'd had just enough time for a single hasty call to her husband as she left the planet, letting him know why she was heading across known space so early in the morning. Rumors were quickly spreading that the expedition fleet at Shanxi had made first contact with an alien race, though she remained skeptical.

Being the Director of Foreign Affairs meant Goyle was the very first and most logical choice when it came to deciding who would represent humanity on the galactic stage, though most of the time she had to meet with the representatives from the Big Four or sometimes from other nations.

During the ride on the ship, she had been briefed on the situation and was shocked to learn that humanity had indeed made extraterrestrial contact with intelligent life. Soon, she was consumed by updates, reading through any known information on the aliens as it became available. The reports stated that the alien flotilla, confirmed to be designated as such by the raloi themselves, numbered at fifty ships; however it was unknown if the collection of ships was indeed a flotilla or something much more. Alliance naval standards classified such numbers as a battle group, but it was unknown how far raloi naval standards differed from the Alliance's. Arcturus command had argued over whether to display a show of strength, deception, or peace. Finally it was decided upon that until more was made known of the Raloi, a display of peace was the best course of action.

Once the _SSV Campoformio_ entered Shanxi's system, Goyle had gotten her first glimpses at the alien vessels. Unlike Alliance ships, the Raloi's had more noticeable curves and contours. Of note was the curved tip found on all their ships. Watching them caused Goyle to wonder what type of weaponry the raloi ships carried and if they were more destructive than the Alliance's. Thankfully it appeared that the 98th detachment, spread out in a defensive position around Shanxi, was not heavily outnumbered; but she knew this could change very quickly. The few weapon satellites and nuclear silos that were present on the planet and its surrounding orbit helped boost the Alliance's firepower, but they were not enough to fully engage a fleet of alien ships.

Goyle frowned at the possible consequences of sending only one diplomatic ship. The one hundred fifty meter long ship, armed with basic defense weapons and armor, was severely under-equipped to make an escape if hostilities broke out. Aesthetically, the ship resembled a 'wet-navy' carrier as it possessed a flat hull. It was not made to appear menacing, but friendly and had a graceful look to it, unlike Alliance combat ships. The _Camformio_ lacked a main gun, instead wielding thirty broadside turrets and a heavily improved kinetic barrier, which could easily be destroyed by concentrated fire. On the plus side, she had a complement of four N7 Marines, the best the Alliance had to offer, serving as her personal guard. Unfortunately, the ship and its complement were all that she had been given and would just make due with it. Fortunately, every Alliance fleet was currently being assembled and if push came to shove the Alliance would be ready. The downside was that the 98th would have to hold out until then.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a broadcast from the _Hawking's_ AI. " _Raloi shuttle is approaching. I recommend that the human representative and N7 marines to please make haste for the command deck."_

Goyle quickly looked herself over in a mirror, making sure she was properly dressed for the occasion before exiting her room. She stepped inside an elevator and pressed the deck icon. The ride lasted for a few seconds before a loud chime from the elevator indicated she had reached her destination. Exiting the elevator, she was greeted with the sight of her armed escort. They were all similarly equipped with an extensive array of weapons that seemed capable of outgunning entire marine squads. Their armor was coated in a non-reflective matte black color with a red and white stripe running down the shoulders of each arm. She noticed, with a little curiosity, that they all had the logo of the Alliance imprinted on their left chest, a prominent sign of commitment and pride.

 _'Not loyal to any national government then, or they're hiding it well. Interesting.'_ She mused.

"Ma'am, are you the representative we were assigned to protect?" The leader asked. His entire face was covered by his helmet's black polarized visor which, if Goyle was honest with herself, was a tad intimidating.

She merely gave a nod and stood still as the leader handed her a basic Kevlar vest. She mentally scowled herself for forgetting to wear basic protection. As she put on the vest, the leader introduced himself and his team.

"I'm Commander Mike Hower and this is my team: Alpha squad. The two on my left are Gunnery Sergeants Kimberly Velasquez and Jacob Frost and to my right is Second Lieutenant David Anderson." The N7 marine said, indicating to each member with his finger. Even though they were all similarly equipped, Goyle noticed each had distinctly different armaments, based upon their role in the squad. Seeing their professional attitude first-hand, and being all too aware of their skill, she felt a surge of confidence in her escort.

"Good to meet you Alpha squad," She said, trying to make a good first impression. "I assume you understand the situation?"

"First contact scenario. Our delegate needs the very best protection," Hower replied, short and to the point.

"Correct. You're task here is to protect me in case of hostilities while I do my best to keep this meeting from going south. These aliens, or Raloi as they are called, have us outnumbered and we don't know if they have more ships just waiting to show up."

"We understand ma'am. We'll look tough for the new kids on the playground," said Frost as the group waited for the Raloi delegation to arrive.

* * *

 **Karo transport shuttle**

 **Passenger Section**

Admiral Talal was partially surprised at the lack of a hectic, panicked environment within the shuttle. He'd truly expected to see some form of nervousness in his guards; however he saw the exact opposite. His escorts, the Shadows, were Raloi Special Forces and they all seemed well focused and disciplined. The Shadows were an honored and respected branch within the military, being responsible for quelling entire militia groups or other external threats to the Confederacy. They were loyal to the core towards their cause and their people. The Shadows weren't as ferocious as the Raiders, Raloi shock troopers, but they were far more precise and deadlier. The thought made him smirk, recalling their motto: _'The last thing you never saw.'_ It might appear arrogant, but it was entirely deserved.

The Shadows were covered from head to toe in their silver suits of armor. Their visors traced wide arcs around their eyes, allowing them to take advantage of their peripheral vision and minimizing exposed parts of the face. Every other component of their armor was as different as their personalities. After all, Shadows had a reputation for personal customization. Better gear individually, made a better squad overall.

"So … what do you think they will be like?" Asked one of the Shadows, "Will they be militaristic or scientific?"

"So long as they don't try to kill us, I don't care." Responded another.

"Cut the chatter. You all know what is at stake here. Once we dock with the human ship, I want all of you to be prepared for anything," Vak, the leader of the platoon, said.

"What do you think, admiral?" Epip, the heavy weapons expert, asked.

Talal was silent for a few moments before answering. "I think this is an incredible opportunity for our species. We have initiated first contact with another intelligent race, and if we play our chips correctly, we may be able to secure an alliance or perhaps share technology with each other." He said.

"So … admiral, you saw the first contact message, what do they look like?" Luwow questioned. Being the platoon's sniper meant he was always hungry for more information.

"They look completely different from us. They have a variety of skin tones ... some are dark brown, others are pale white. They don't have any crests, instead having fur. Some seem to have it all around their bodies while others seemed to lack any completely. Their noses and nostrils are much larger than our own, their ears are placed on the sides of their heads, and their eyes are located on the front of their faces. The only similarity we have is five digits on our hands." The admiral told them.

"Do you think they could be a threat?" Luwow pried further, silencing the shuttle. It was a matter of professional interest. Every Shadow knew their life expectancy had a chance of becoming drastically shorter, depending on the answer.

"It is impossible to know at the moment. For all we know the flotilla here, as they claim, could be just battle group like ours or the entirety of their fleet. We have no understanding of their military capacity or their tactics." He slitted his pupils, thinking hard. "We would be very wise to hope for the best, yet be prepared for the worst."

The shuttle stayed silent for the rest of the trip. A half hour passed before the shuttle docked with the human ship, an interminable time for his nerves. The shape of the human vessel was more comforting at least, its more appealing lines resembling some of the early attempts Talal could recall from his history texts.

The landing had no complications, a good omen, he thought. As the admiral and his shadows departed from the shuttle and crossed through the airlock, Talal took the time to observe his surroundings. As the light overhead began beating down on his silver armor, he saw that human architecture was more linear lacking the curves found on most raloi ships.

"Admiral Talal, a pleasure to meet you," A feminine voice said. At first he heard random noise before it was changed to his native tongue. He looked to his right to see a female human, escorted by four heavily armed soldiers, two on each side. Their weapons were placed at their sides, but it was obvious they could be unleashed at a moment's notice.

The human soldiers wore a non-reflective suit of black armor, matching their sinister-looking helmets. Of particular notice was how the human soldiers' visors were similar to the Shadows, albeit being differently shaped. All of them had a red and white stripe running down their shoulders, possibly representing rank or perhaps something else entirely. Comparing the four human soldiers to his fifteen, Talal didn't know if the humans were either extremely skilled or arrogant. Deciding he didn't want to find out, Talal raised his hand towards his Shadows, ordering their weapons be placed at their sides or holstered. The Shadow platoon complied, but still kept a tight grip on their rifles just in case.

The female human stopped a few yards away from Talal, keeping a respectable distance between the two. Her four guards stood like statues, though something told Talal that they were scanning his Shadows and himself for any hostile movement.

The female human reached her arm out to him and held it there. Unsure what to do, Talal repeated the gesture, silently hoping he wasn't insulting the human. An awkward moment occurred when the admiral and director each had their hands out, neither moving for different reasons. The human understood his confusion and smiled, nodded slowly, kindly.

"Shake my hand," the human female said.

Talal suddenly remembered the word from a segment in the human's first contact video, and remembered at one point seeing the gesture as well. He took a step forward and delicately grasping the human's hand in his own talons, raised and lowered with care.

"Friend." He said, as they shook hands. The human female gave him a nod and smiled widely as she confirmed the meaning of the action. As the two separated back to their groups, she spoke.

* * *

 ** _SSV Campoformio_**

 **Diplomatic Ship**

 **Command Deck**

The single most important historical moment in the history of mankind was going incredibly well, if Goyle could say so herself. Despite the patchy translation software, the raloi admiral seemed to understand the meaning behind her words and gestures, repeating them to great effect.

Goyle flicked one of the fingers on her wrist, summoning an orange holographic device to appear. The omni-tool as it was called was a multipurpose diagnostic and manufacturing tool used for a variety of tasks. It was amongst the first inventions humanity had developed with the aid of element zero. The admiral seemed to recognize the device, since his soldiers did not see it make any attempts to stop her. She extended it towards his face. "Can you please record your language in this device?"

It took a moment before the admiral could understand what Goyle was requesting. As if to indicate he understood, the admiral bowed shortly before fishing for a device in his pocket. "Language data for you." The admiral said, presenting a small chip. He seemed pleased at the action.

Goyle graciously accepted the chip, struggling for a moment before finding a place to insert it. A few minutes passed before the translator VI in her omni-tool managed to make a key between the two languages, but it was well-worth it. She essentially now had a near perfect translator, something even the combined power of the fleet's AIs couldn't do. The admiral seemed to already have data on the human languages from the First Contact package; however the VI in Goyle's omni-tool was making an improved copy for him as well. Four more minutes passed before the VI told her the process was complete. Removing the chip from her omni-tool, Goyle handed it back, along with a copy of the translation software, to the admiral.

Inserting it into his own omni-tool, the admiral quickly activated the software and routed it through his helmet.

"It's a translator … speak through it." Goyle said, knowing her words would be perfectly translated through the program. She quickly sent a copy of the program to her guards, assuming that her opposite would be performing the same action.

"I can understand you perfectly … what is this?" The admiral asked, before the machine made a few beeps, translating the same words into the human language.

"As I said, it is a translator. I used a VI program in my omni-tool to create a better key for translating between our languages," Goyle explained after a slight delay. She made sure to send the translation software to the Captain Wang's AI, who she expected would soon have it transmitted across all Alliance servers.

Admiral Talal expressed gratitude before Stephen, the _SSV Hawking's_ AI, appeared over the _Campoformio's_ galaxy map.

"Ambassador, admiral, we have a situation," he said calmly. His holographic form appeared to be multi-tasking, moving programs around while having multiple screens of information in front of him.

Both Goyle and Talal understood him perfectly without any delays, though since he was an AI this was not surprising.

"What is it?" Goyle asked.

"I've detected a vast amount of ships exiting through the Theta system's secondary Relay via probes deployed by the Alliance science team. Its likely the same Relay the Raloi used, although I have yet to confirm this. The new contacts appear to be heading for Theta's primary Relay and since it connects to Shanxi's systems, odds are they are headed our way." Stephen answered. "I should note that their intentions are currently unknown, but the signatures gathered from the probes show that the new ships do not match human or raloi designs."

Goyle looked slightly worried before regaining her composure. "Admiral Talal are these ships possibly yours or one of your allies?"

Talal shook his head. "No, the Confederacy scheduled only for my group to travel this far out from our controlled systems and your race is the only one we've made contact with thus far."

Looking back to the AI, Goyle kept her facial expression calm despite growing anxiety. "Steven, what can you tell us about the unknown ships?"

The pale white figure tilted its head in contemplation. "They appear to number in the hundreds. Based on power signatures, both kinetic barriers and weapons are fully armed. I've informed Arcturus station and Captain Wang of the situation. He has asked me to ensure you are out of the combat zone. The Big Four are reading their WMDs and have their forces on high alert." His head turned sideways, as if he were looking out a window they could not see. "Warning: I calculate we have approximately twenty minutes before they arrive."

Goyle immediately felt nauseated. _Hundreds_ of ships? With the number of ships the detachment had, there was no way Captain Wang could hold out long enough for reinforcements to arrive and the nearest Alliance fleet was far from being ready for combat.

Talal, also understanding what the AI was saying, immediately looked at his men who nodded, agreeing with his unspoken request. "Ambassador, if these ships prove hostile, know that we will stand with you. If you will pardon me, I need to inform my men and government of the situation."

Goyle smiled. Even though the alien still knew little about humanity, Talal must have realized neither race could best the new comers on their own should there be trouble. Only through their combined might could they hope to survive.

With the support from the Raloi, Goyle felt some sense of relief. "On behalf of my race, and for myself, thank you." She said meekly. Talal gave a bow before turning and heading back toward his shuttle. His men followed close behind as he warned his species of the threat via his omni-tool.

"Ma'am we have to get you to safety." Hower said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"That won't be necessary." She said, confusing the marines.

"Ma'am?" Hower questioned, not understanding her response.

"Shanxi is going to need all the soldiers it can get if this turns into an invasion. There is a Kodiak shuttle in the cargo bay. Take it. I'll ask Stephen to inform General Williams of your arrival."

Hower gave a nod of gratitude, turning to lead his team towards the cargo bay. They hurried, jogging out of sight. Once they stepped in the elevator, she was left alone in the command deck. The whole ship was piloted and powered by a network of VIs. Normally she wouldn't mind the privacy, but now she needed someone to hold her as she looked down on the planet. She took a calming breath; millions of families wouldn't get the chance to escape as she had nor were they prepared for what was about to come.

"Pilot, once the shuttle takes off, insert coordinates for Earth."

"Affirmative." Replied the VI.

' _I'm coming home, Derek.'_ She thought as she continued to stare at the planet wondering just how many lives would be lost.

* * *

 **Trivia:**

1\. This is the only Mass Effect fic, to our knowledge, that contains peaceful first contact between the raloi and humanity.

2\. Colonel Morgunov is the same character as General Morgunov from H.A.W.X 2. For those of you who have played the game, yes I am aware of what he does, but c'mon he gives an awesome speech during his intro. How can you not like him after that? And yes, he will play a major part in the story and yes the batarians will learn S.G.B war doctrine the hard way. I can already see some of you getting excited over that chapter.

3\. One of the historic precedents studied for the Goyle/Talal talks was the Benjamin Franklin discussions with the French Court. Two different mindests, attempting to gain the greatest benefit for their own countries, how could parallels not be drawn?

4\. Originally, the Raloi homeworld was going to be named Raloin before learning the canon name of their homeworld.

5\. The start date of the First Contact event, December 25th aka Christmas, was chosen unintentionally and once made aware we were easily able to use it as a reference for General Williams' religion and add a bigger impact into his character. I mean a Christian general fighting aliens on Christmas, kind of hilarious no?


	4. Chapter 4 - Prelude to War

12-25-2156, 1036 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Arcturus Station**

 **Prime Minister Chambers**

It was the gateway to Earth, humanity's homeworld. Some called it Alliance Head Quarters, others called it home. Arcturus station, home of the Alliance fleets and the capital of the Systems Alliance, housed more than a few high level commanders and politicians.

Arcturus was a marvel of modern engineering, built over twenty years at tremendous expense. The iconic space station was the single largest construction project undertaken by the Alliance. Over fifty million tons of refined materials had been brought into the system through the Mass Relays, and entire asteroids were broken down to create the massive five-kilometer wide cylinder. Its length had been capped at three kilometers, but held potential for future growth.

Since its original design was for defensive purposes, the station had been sheathed in layers of armor and heavy shielding. The thick sides were then studded with missile launchers, VI controlled turrets, hundreds of fighter and bomber hangars and even a mass accelerator cannon angling through its entire length, icing on the proverbial cake. The design was expanded and re-purposed as a joint political/military station merely two years after its inauguration.

Now, even after the mammoth project was completed, Arcturus still required nearby stations to supply it and its naval shipyards with needed resources. Even the defensive batteries that surrounded the local Mass Relay, intricate constructs of automated weapon platforms and stealth nuclear mines, needed huge amounts of raw materials to continue functioning.

The heavy layers of defenses may seem extreme, but considering that nearly every decision made on the station affected billions of lives, every precaution had to be taken. As an example, the decision facing Prime Minister Carlo Bonaventura, a native born citizen of the European Federation, would affect humanity as a whole.

Bonaventura was in his late seventies with gray hair, slightly pale skin, and green eyes. He was no stranger to politics or making difficult decisions. He'd made many during his term as Prime Minister and according to polls and surveys he was doing a hell of a good job. For the past two hours however, he'd been worrying that the exact opposite was occurring. Ever since Shanxi's data burst had reached his terminal, he'd been drinking too much caffeine and stressing over the situation. It was understandable of course. Like many members of the parliamentary and military leadership, he'd been briefed on a new race nearing the Shanxi-Theta Relay. The realization that _more_ than one alien race existed, with space faring ships and numerous colonies just outside of one of the Alliance's own, was enough to send shivers down his spine. At minimum.

Bonaventura sat in the swivel chair, heading the long glass table that, by its appearance, could accommodate another twelve people. Before him was a long transparent window overlooking the gas giant orbiting the station. Through it, he could see the ships of the 5th fleet, passing by its expanse as if in a parade. The Arcturus' Fleet, much like the station itself, stood proudly as it was being geared up for war.

Bonaventura sighed, returning to his work. To his right stood General Alexei Volodin and to his left sat the Admiral Michael Spencer. Alongside the officers hovered their subordinates, all in ceremonial uniform. Further back circled an array of high ranking parliamentary politicians, all of whom possessed immense foreign affairs experience. As they all sat, the walls around the room darkened by a reflective black coating, a security precaution insisted upon by the section builders.

General Volodin was the first to speak. "Mr. Prime Minister, I believe that you've been updated on the situation in the X-1 system?" His cold, veteran eyes seemed to pierce through the minister's soul.

"Unfortunately yes, general," Bonaventura replied gloomily.

"Then you would also know that humanity is in danger," Volodin said, staring into the minister's eyes.

"Yes. While I do not know how widespread the danger is, I believe we must treat this as such." He shook his head. "I never believed that it would be my duty to handle an emergency like this. What do your people say, Spencer?" He turned to the navy admiral.

The admiral keyed his omni-tool, the holographic projector on the board shifting to display a large scale model of Shanxi's system. Near the Relay floated the familiar models and signatures of forty four Alliance navy ships. On the other side of the system hovered fifty alien ships with strange designs. They were all blue colored, with a slightly aquatic appearance. The prows of their ships were curved, very much like a bird's beak. In the middle of both fleets, stood a small diplomatic ship, the _Campoformio,_ in which first contact talks had taken place, and still would be occurring had another improbable event not occurred.

"This was the situation until about half an hour ago," began Spencer. "First Contact with a new race, with a more than decent chance of diplomatic success." He scowled. "Then long range scans from sensor probes found this."

Spencer manipulated the hologram. The image rotated by one hundred and eighty degrees, expanding to show two separate systems, simultaneously rendering the prime minister speechless. The digits showed over four hundred and fifty ships colored in red, in battle formation, and charging towards the now-discovered Theta Relay, merely one Relay jump from Shanxi's system. Bonaventura imaged that they were powering up weapons and kinetic barriers, if they haven't done so already. On the other half of the hologram, Alliance and Confederate vessels were beginning to take a defensive position around the planet.

"We found a large number of enemy ships on the margins of the system. They appear hostile based on initial intelligence. Judging from their power signatures, they appear to have loaded weapons and full-powered kinetic barriers. We do not know their intentions," Spencer highlighted the attack formation, emphasizing their destruction of multiple probes, "but they seem to be anything but peaceful."

"Has the Alliance navy already been informed, or anyone on Earth?" The minister asked, worrying for the billions of lives located on Shanxi. Never in his lifetime had Bonaventura thought he would live to see alien contact, let alone lead humanity against alien invaders. His mind immediately went to Star Wars, pondering how they must've felt in times like these.

"Yes sir. Earth has been put on high alert, and a QRF from the Fifth Fleet is currently being assembled; it should be ready to leave here by the end of the following week. The entire Fourteenth Fleet is being readied for combat as well, but our best estimates indicate they'll be ready for deployment inside three weeks at the earliest."

Bonaventura evaluated the impassive faces surrounding the room. It was evident the answers he was receiving were perceived as unsatisfactory.

"All civilian ships with sufficient transport capacity stationed at Shanxi have received orders to evacuate the colony; although I should note that in major urban centers, the evacuation is progressing slowly. Our detachment and apparently our new friends, the Raloi, are regrouping in a defensive perimeter around the colony," Spencer said. He nodded at the minister. "That is a summary of all we know at the moment."

"My God," Bonaventura uttered. He could certainly see all the parliamentary members' confusion, he was baffled himself. Not only had one sentient race been discovered, but a second as well, all within the span of a few hours of each other.

"Has parliament already met?" voiced Volodin.

"Yes," Bonaventura replied, knowing where the conversation was headed.

""Who is leading the session in your absence?"

"The Deputy Prime Minister, Philippe Lacroix."

"Can the Deputy Prime Minister start a vote in your absence?" The general had a …cagey look. From what Bonaventura knew of the man, the general was attempting to corral his response into an irrefutable point.

"Yes, he can, but-" Before Bonaventura could continue, he was cut off by the general

"Then do it! We have already put all our forces on high alert throughout human space. If you declare Sigma Tau protocol, then we have some hope of saving Shanxi!" Volodin hissed, looking almost glacial. Something told Bonaventura that if he hadn't held the position of prime minister, Volodin wouldn't be asking as nicely. Or at all for that matter.

Bonaventura still hesitated. Declaring Sigma Tau, an actual state of threat against humanity, was tantamount to depriving each sovereign government of their powers, which would then be conferred to the Alliance, which in turn proceeded to administer them. Unfortunately, the stronger national governments would no doubt oppose the resolution. They placed the welfare of their own citizens before those of other nations, making cooperation difficult. But the current issue wasn't about a relatively simple terrorist group threatening to release a virus, or an assassination attempt on political leaders; this was about openly hostile aliens threatening all of humanity.

He paused. There was only one way to find out; either this would serve as the glue to unite the nations of Earth, or shatter their union beyond any hope of reconciliation. Bonaventura opened his omni-tool. "Philippe, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Mr. Prime Minister. Where are you, sir? The Parliament is awaiting your arrival," the Deputy Prime Minister informed him.

"There have been some unexpected developments. High command has asked me to initiate the Sigma Tau protocol." He paused, letting the gravity of the moment sink in. "In my absence I hereby authorized you to start the vote."

There was no answer on the other side, only the steady breathing of his subordinate. He had to be shocked. Bonaventura couldn't blame him for that, or anyone for that matter; this was the first time in history that such measures had been taken.

"Can you hear me, Lacroix? This is General Volodin," the general snapped, adding himself to the conversation. "I'm sending a file with all the necessary explanations. Give it to your colleagues and begin the vote. We're talking of the fate of our species here," It was more of a demand than a suggestion.

"I ... I will do it, sir," the deputy answered, stuttering before regaining his composure. "I've received the file. I'll begin the process immediately, but I suggest you come here as well. The other members of parliament will certainly have questions and things may…get complicated."

"Thank you, Lacroix," Volodin said. The deputy prime minister cut the link.

"I would say that we're done here," Bonaventura said, getting up from his chair, an action imitated by the other members and officers. "If I remember correctly, in situations of war, the three senior ranks of the armed forces are made available." He gave a faint smile to both men on his flank.

Bonaventura noticed the generals exchange a glance, then nod to a footman, whom in turn entered a smaller door to one side, disappearing within. A minute later, the man approached him, bearing three completely golden epaulettes on a platter, each with their own unique designs. The man's steps were solemn, bordering on reverential.

"I see that you had prepared everything," he said, in a tone of reproach to the two senior officers, who merely gave him innocent looks. "I only regret that it had to have been so private." He took a moment to compose himself, drawing his public speaking demeanor around him like a cloak. "Please take a step forward." He ordered.

The two officers stepped in front of the prime minister. They removed the epaulettes with four gold bars they were both wearing on their uniforms. Two officers gathered the epaulettes and walked away, protocol requiring them to be stored in the Alliance vault.

"It's in times like these that the true leaders of humanity come forward. Alexei Volodin and Michael Spencer, you two will be the respective supreme commanders of the Alliance ground forces and navy. You have both come from rival countries, but you have chosen to put the good of your race ahead of a single nation. A noble motivation. For that I promote you, Alexei Volodin, to the rank of Field Marshal of the Systems Alliance Army and you, Michael Spencer, to Fleet Admiral of the Systems Alliance Navy."

Bonaventura hooked the gold epaulets onto the shoulders of the two officer's uniforms, the physical evidence indicating they were now two of the most powerful military leaders of the Alliance. Upon closer examination, one would notice that Spencer's epaulets bore the symbol of the Alliance with three stars, while Volodin instead had a sword with two lightning bolts in the symbol of the Alliance.

"Humanity now relies upon you both. Do not disappoint us." Bonaventura paused wryly. "It is a pity Air Force Chief of Staff Helber Frederich wasn't here to receive his own promotion. He was intent on organizing our pilots for their deployment to Shanxi and couldn't have made it as a result." He grew serious once more. "However I will make him aware of his new position as General of the Systems Alliance Air Force."

He stepped back. "This concludes the ceremony. Good luck, gentlemen."

The duo snapped to attention, while those present applauded. With the ceremony concluded, Bonaventura exited the room.

 _'_ _Today we make history,'_ Bonaventura thought, walking towards the press room filled with many politicians that would no doubt be ready to demand answers from him.

* * *

 **Alliance Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 _"General Williams, Admiral Talal is available through the vid-comm,"_ Colonel Matthews' voice sparked through the personal communication set.

"Thank you, colonel. Patch him in." Williams was comfortably seated in his office, approving deployment orders and signing off on reports. Behind his chair was a large window from which, if one focused correctly, one could see the Shanxi's moon, Wuo. The general's study was a classic outer colony office, far different from a similarly positioned office at Arcturus, Earth, or the inner colonies. Unlike its trinket bedecked comparison, this study had a desk, a library, a swivel chair and a shelf adorned with photos of the Alliance. An added oddity was a shelf of model vehicles, manufactured by the general himself during his free time.

Williams lowered the brightness on his computer and stood up, spreading the collar of his solid white officer's uniform a little. Certainly Alliance uniforms exuded seriousness and professionalism, but they were highly uncomfortable. Though produced by the best European textile companies, they were modeled after the uniforms of the European Federation Armed Forces of World War III, which in turn were, modeled after the German uniforms of World War II. Professional, of course, but the collar was a bit too tight for his liking.

The vid-screen came online and Williams saw his first alien. The raloi was tall, but not significantly more so than him, and although some of them had been described as dinosaurs, they seemed more avian to him. The being in front of him was wearing a sort of silver-grayish armor with a few notches on the chest, which undoubtedly represented his rank. Making sure that his subcutaneous translation chip was active, he began briefing with the raloi.

"General Williams, Alliance Marine Corps," he said. He wasn't sure if _marine_ was a word that existed in the raloi language, but then again, it existed in the human languages as a word imported from the Anglo-Saxon languages.

 _"Admiral Talal, Raloi Confederate Navy."_ The alien said, nodding as he understood.

 _'_ _Confederate eh? If they are anything like the Confederates from more than three hundred years ago, then I have a feeling they won't be well liked.'_ Williams thought.

The alien's image darted in different directions, gazing at everything that was within the study. It appeared as if Talal was looking around the room, perhaps as a way to better understand humanity and its customs. Williams guessed this had to be the first example of human interior decoration for him.

 _"_ _General, I would like to thank you for what your people are doing for us. Some of our ships were in need of supplies,_ _and your generosity with your own stocks is appreciated_ _,"_ The admiral's pupils twitched slightly, although not threateningly.

"It's nothing. If we did not share our aid, what kind of friends we would be?" Williams replied with a smile on his face. He hoped the alien was not deterred by the scar that covered his left eye. "But then again, you have graciously offered to stand with us in our time of need ... who knows where they will be next without your help?"

 _"Generosity has a way of uniting people, general,"_ Talal said. _"As for the newcomers, if they truly have impure intentions then the longer they take to arrive, the more time we have to prepare our defenses."_

"Well said." Williams was starting to appreciate his new ally more and more. Blunt honesty was in short supply, further up the chain of command. "I'll be organizing my troops down here into defensive positions, and prepare for a ground invasion. Other than that, all we can do is wait for Arcturus to send some more specific orders ... and some reinforcements. We are too few to be able to resist on our own for an extended duration." He said, not liking the odds.

Talal looked at him with a questioning look. _"Arcturus? Is it that your home world?"_

"No. Our homeworld is called Earth. It is a beautiful planet, I was born there. Arcturus is the name of the space station where lies our military and political leadership. Our capital, if you will."

The admiral seemed intrigued by Williams' words, which was understandable of course. What race would abandon the security of a planet to offer to its leadership a cramped space station, exposed to the dangers and weathering of space?

 _"_ _Having all your leaders in one station, regardless of how well defended, is risky,"_ Talal said, stating some of his own thoughts.

"True, however it's no less risky than putting them in a building where any armed militia can storm in there if they have the strength and weapons. In space, any attack has to get through our fleets, battery emplacements, and station marines before getting to any military or political leaders. By that time our leaders would already be gone." Wiliams explained.

 _"_ _Ah, I see,"_ Talal said. He seemed to understand the Alliance's mindset and if he didn't, then he was one hell of an actor. _"Any news from your central command?"_

"No. But my AI will tell me when we get something. Until then we'll just have to survive without them for the time being."

 _"Would you like to connect to one of our communication buoys? This would diminish the waiting time between messages,"_ the admiral suggested. _"Hopefully, it will increase our coordination for the upcoming battle."_

"That would be greatly appreciated, admiral. Thank you for the offer. I'll inform Captain Wang of your suggestion and he'll have his AI patch you into our comm. channels." Williams began to type quickly, lit from blue colored lights emanating from the holographic screen. After a few moments he stopped and activated his omni-tool. Talal's own instrument brightened at the same time. "I have arranged for a connection between your ships and those of Captain Wang's."

 _"Thank you."_

"If I could do more ..." Williams stopped talking when the colonel entered the room. The younger man had a very serious air, but also looked quite scared.

"Sir," he said, making a quick salute "Arcturus wants you at the communication hub ASAP. They say it's important, something about the Parliament?"

"The Parliament?" Williams was thoughtful. "Did they say what it was about?"

"No, sir. But it appears to be serious."

Talal silently nodded from his place on the screen. " _Go ahead general, I've more than taken up your time. I need to ready my own forces. Good luck, General Williams,"_ Talal said, before cutting the connection. The vid-screen that once displayed his image now evaporated showing nothing more but the projector behind it.

"Take command of the base, colonel." Williams said, rising from his chair. "Who knows what those politicians want?" If he hadn't been stressed before, he was now. Coordinating the entire human ground force was more than enough responsibility without having to listen to politicians arguing over technicalities as well.

The general walked along the hallway of the structure, getting occasional glances from the staff on duty. He guessed that they must've already have heard of the pending invasion, and gave a moment's thought to cursing how fast information spread throughout the base. Sometimes it was a military's best asset, other times a liability. He left the building and walked toward the building where the communication systems were secured. In the main square, platoons of marines moved quickly, marching toward their Mako transports or loading up equipment onto Kodiak shuttles. Preparing for deployment normally was given several days advance notice, now only the critical defense points could be secured. Cries of officers and platoon leaders resounded throughout the base, along with the barely audible sound of the many element zero vehicles cruising through the base. Some individuals stood to attention in front of Williams and remained so until Williams saluted them back. Those were few; the energy in the air was exceedingly high.

Williams walked into the base's communications hub, a rather large structure with numerous antennas on its roof. "General Williams, Field Marshal Volodin is waiting." A lieutenant sitting at a nearby desk said. "He says that it is an 'issue of great importance'." A sergeant compiling data on a computer glanced over alertly as if expecting orders. The room briefly reflected the computer screen's glow, making Williams question the sensitivity of human eye-sight.

"Thank you, lieutenant," Williams said as the lieutenant motioned inside, opening the door. Williams entered the room made of curved silver walls and positioned himself in the center of the projector, right in the middle point of the rectangle drawn on the floor. The room darkened and he was covered with a white grid that ran through his entire body. Accustomed to practice, he did not move a muscle until his body, or rather a room, was projected displaying a well-lit office in Arcturus station, whose window looked towards the boundless space to Benning, if he could correctly interpret the stars. He snapped to attention as a figure appeared.

"Field Marshal Volodin, sir!"

 _"Rest, Williams,"_ the man said, waving deprecatingly. He was dressed in the same uniform as Williams, though with a few notable differences, notably the ceremonial cap that went with the uniform quite nicely. His face was clean-shaven, a few wrinkles in the face and blondish hair, but age betrayed him in the eyes; those blue orbs that as a young man had to have seduced many woman, now gave off fatigue and age, though some fighting spirit could be seen in them. _"How are you, general?"_

"Well, sir. We are putting the planet on a war footing and I feel younger by at least ten years," Williams said with a light chuckle before seriousness returned to his face.

 _"_ _Lucky you ... this story appears to be killing me slowly. I have seen too many fights as a young man, watched as many of my friends died in the line of duty. Now, I'd like nothing more than a little rest, but instead we learn of the existence of extraterrestrial aliens, one of whom appears to be hostile!"_ The field marshal's voice grew angry. He stood solid and proud, like a statute displayed at a museum.

Williams couldn't resist smiling at his former commanding officer. Volodin was an old veteran, vast years of war sculpted by the man's hands yet age did not erode his personality. Williams remembered his early days as an officer, a mere lieutenant serving under the man standing before him. He had fought pirates and quelled insurgencies for two decades before being assigned to a home division. Having seen all the colors during patrols on the ground and having survived several near-death encounters, Williams believed the man certainly deserved the promotion more than anyone else.

"Congratulations on the promotion, sir," He congratulated. It made him feel slightly better knowing that humanity had a great leader commanding the Alliance's troops.

 _"Thank you, but I fear it is only a formality, my boy. Rather tell me about those Raloi. Do you think we can trust them?"_ Volodin asked.

"I think yes, sir. They seemed very courteous and polite, from what little I know of them. I would not know about their militarily capabilities, but their soldiers seem stronger than the average human, but with our genetic enhancements though, we should be able to reduce this advantage to at least a small margin. From what I've seen, the rest of their technology seems entirely reliant on element zero, more-so than our own."

The general went on to explain the other aspects of the situation. Integration efforts of Shanxi's multi-national defense force still had a long way to go, but could currently be used as an advantage. With the four mega powers assisting in the planet's defense, the aliens would have to conform to five battle strategies, fight five different forces, and be able to withstand each faction's strengths.

Volodin stood silent, deep in thought, hands behind his back. _"I guess we have no choice but to trust them in this case. After the reports of those hostile ships appearing in the Theta system, we'll need all the help we can get."_

"What is our state of readiness, sir?" Williams hoped, no he _prayed_ that the Alliance wasn't just fully alert, but had already sent reinforcements.

 _"All systems connected_ _to Shanxi are on high alert and are currently mobilizing their units, both local garrisons and defense flotillas. The Fourteenth Fleet is currently being readied for deployment. Lucky for you, a QRF from the Fifth Fleet, with the_ _SSV Tesla_ _serving as the flagship, should be prepared for arrival by the end of the following week. Reinforcements are on their way, but you and Captain Wang must contain this invasion in your system for as long as possible. Admiral Spencer wants to pour as many troops as possible into the system."_ The old man paused, taking a longer breath.

 _"_ _He plans to contain, hold, and overwhelm the enemy in both ground and space combat. Currently, our top priority is to defend human colonies and the Relays. The navy has activated their IFF based minefields to prevent the enemy from_ _safely jumping into other systems. It may not stop them, but it will certainly slow them down."_

 _"_ _Now, onto more important business: the state of Sigma Tau protocol has been approved by Parliament just a few minutes ago. This means that you have full control of all human forces on the planet. Use them wisely."_ Volodin acted as if the shell shocker he'd dropped on Williams was nothing. The expression on Williams' face would have been comical, if the situation hadn't been so dire.

 _'_ _Commander of all the human forces on Shanxi? My god! It's not my birthday, but it sure seems like it!'_ Williams thought. Stunned disbelief didn't even begin to cover his thoughts. The four nations, who hated each other with a burning passion, were now under Williams' command ... which made his appointment either a blessing or a curse. This certainly would be a historic day for humanity, a day which would either live on in virtue or be forever remembered as a day of infamy.

"Bonaventura must have had a heart rate of over a thousand when he asked the nations to make that sacrifice," Williams said, feeling sympathy for the prime minister. Thinking quickly, he stood at attention, demonstrating pride and honor in the acceptance of such a … questionable title.

 _"I wouldn't know. All I heard was that he spoke for half an hour, and the applause lasted nearly equally as long. The vote was almost unanimous. Only a few Russian, Chinese and smaller country deputies voted no, but overall the vote was four hundred favorable and twenty-five against. The prime minister is about to hold a press-conference to make the news public."_ Volodin said. His eyes looked foreboding.

 _'_ _Even in the face of an alien invasion they still clutch onto old grudges. Hopefully they'll focus on slitting the enemy's throat rather than each other's.'_ Williams understood nationalism was a powerful driving force; he just hoped it would be of some help now.

"I will provide the information to my men. Have the other generals have been warned?"

 _"No, I'll leave that honor to you. Be cautious, telling this to the JSF, Enforcer, New Chinese Republic, and Spetsnaz commanders will be tense. If you can, tell your friend, Talal, to prepare his fleet. Has he promised to help us or not?"_

"He has, and I think he'll do it gladly."

 _"Good. That is all for now, general. Make those alien bastards see what it means to attack humanity,"_ Volodin snapped to attention in front of his subordinate, who did the same. The field marshal's omni-tool began to glow yellow, before he closed the link. Williams, or rather the projection of the room, evaporated and he found himself facing the projector's wall.

Before he could turn and leave, he knew he had to give one final message: tell the other four commanders that they were now under the command of the Alliance. Under _his_ command. "Vianna, link me to Generals Bando, Chu, Parker, and Colonel Morgunov."

"With pleasure, sir," the AI replied. "Patching in…now."

The vid-screen split into four sections, before the holographic images of the commanding officers of all four armies appeared. " _General Williams, to what do I owe the displeasure of seeing your face,"_ Morgunov snarled, openly hostile. Such was the way of the Spetsnaz; they didn't respect title or rank, but merit and skill.

 _"_ _This better be in important,"_ Chu's image said. _"I am deep in preparations."_ Williams could tell by the deep circles around his eyes, light rash on his neck, and the subtle trembling of his hands that the man was already stressed, relaying information to his commanders across the planet. Having to keep track of and manage the many men and resources the NCRA maintained wasn't an easy task. In fact it was a monstrous logistical nightmare, but the beast had to be satisfied if there was any chance of repelling the enemy.

It was a relief to be greeted by the Enforcer faction leader. _"General Williams, I hope everything is alright with your men."_ Bando gave him a polite half-bow. As an Enforcer, General Bando had high expectations of discipline and respect, and he showed it to others. The Federation's soldiers were considered the most honorable armed forces humanity had, practically knights with advanced weapons and armor.

General Parker just stood there silently almost as if waiting for Williams to confirm what he already knew. The JSF's intelligence agency was second to none, but even they had to have their limitations. He made a mental note to scan his computer for bugs just in case.

 _"_ _Who invited these sobakas?"_ Morgunov asked, flipping a hand gesture at the other generals.

 _"_ _You called me here to trade curses with the Russian?"_ Chu raised one eyebrow, the most emotion Williams had seen from the man.

 _"_ _The Russian, has a name_!" Morgunov growled. The Chinese and Russians had long held animosity for each other, despite the several military and trade agreements shared over the centuries. Those were merely a deterrent to the close ties held by the European Federation and the UNAS.

 _"_ _ENOUGH!"_ Bando bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. The sound clearly transmitted through the vid-com. He turned towards Williams. _"_ _General Williams, my apologies for my colleagues. Would you please explain why you have called us?_ _"_

General Williams took a deep breath, not knowing how to say it. _'God, there is no time.'_ He thought. "I have called on you because a few minutes ago, Parliament held a session. In a majority vote we are now under Sigma Tau protocol."

The four commanders, or three really seeing how General Parker had kept silent through the whole meeting, were shocked into silence. Difference emotions showed on the faces of each commander, Bando and Chu were clearly surprised but Morgunov was visibly angry. Parker maintained his stoic expression, making Williams a bit nervous. The lack of surprise made him suspect Parker had already been informed of the situation, even before he was.

Morgunov was the first to break the silence. _"I am ordering my men to mobilize as quickly as they can. They're setting up a perimeter in a six mile radius of the nearest city or town. Our vehicles and soldiers are perfect for armored assaults. If you want an army to defend cities use the Euros, they are the best at that. My men stationed on the Gian continent will defend the northern cities, towns, and coasts."_

"Colonel wai-" Before General Williams could argue, Morgunov cut him off.

 _"_ _Spetsnaz are trained to_ kill _, not_ save _. We operate the best in the cold, and fight the enemy to the last soldier, to the last rifle, to the last bullet. Hardly an ideal force for escorting citizens. You may have command of my men, but know this if you sacrifice them carelessly … the aliens will be the least of your worries,"_ Morgunov let the threat hang in the air. _"Besides many of our territories have AA guns, and planetary cannons. T_ _he Mother land satellites in orbit are directly controlled through the uplinks in those same areas. I assume you'll want to use them in the upcoming naval battle?"_

General Williams nodded. "Very well. Have your men defend your territories, but once the enemy is driven off I may need your forces in other regions."

 _"_ _General, I may not like you, hell I dislike everything you stand for, but I promise you wherever the enemy is thickest you will find me and my men there."_ Before Morgunov finished his move to cut the link, he stared at the Williams. _"If we all end up dying, you owe me a bottle of Vodka in whatever miserable afterlife awaits us."_ The general's avatar soon disappeared.

Williams felt relieved. In his own way, the Russian had said, 'I will not fail humanity, even if it means working with those beneath me.' It was a lightened load; Spetsnaz soldiers were never known for being sentimental after all, even for such an event as important as this.

General Williams turned his attention to the others, who stood as if nothing had happened. "General Chu, since you have the most men, I would like your divisions to protect the suburbs and evacuate the civilians in populated areas."

 _"_ _Affirmative general."_ General Chu's even tones were soothing. _"I will make sure as many citizens as possible are able to reach safety, but if I do this, I hope you are aware that I won't be able to assist greatly in other fronts?"_

"I know, but I hope it won't turn into a world war style invasion."

General Chu disappeared, leaving Williams with Parker and Bando. "General Bando, seeing as your men are most skilled in urban warfare, I need them to take up defensive positions in major and strategic cities around the world."

" _I will not let you down, general,"_ Bando said with a curt nod. His avatar blinked out as well.

General Williams was left all alone with Parker in the room. As it had throughout the entire meeting, the JSF man's face betrayed no emotion. "General Parker I need you to strike the enemy where they are most vulnerable. Bando's men may be more mobile, but I need stealth not speed in this case. Where ever the situation arises, I need your force to be able to deploy anywhere on the continent they're stationed on."

 _"_ _General if I may make a suggestion?"_ Parker asked. Williams paused, momentarily surprised, before nodding.

 _"_ _Have the majority of the Enforcers protect major cities, but hold back some of their men to act as a QRF of sorts. They'll be able to beat us to any immense battles or faltering front-lines. The extra time, even if it's just be a few seconds, will make a difference. My boys and I will engage the aliens in key locations. We'll do our best to keep them from capturing vital assets. If necessary, the JSF will destroy any uplinks, ammo depots, or anything that can be of use to the enemy."_

The general stretched. " _I can have my air divisions engage the enemy before they land. It'll give General Chu's men more time to evac civies. Speaking of which, aside from evacuations, Chu's men can be used in conjunction with yours for rapid deployment. They can bring massive amounts of soldiers in one area; the Russians won't need our help, unless the aliens have far better strength than the Spetsnaz, which I highly doubt. For the most part they'll do fine on their own."_

General Williams gave a nod, agreeing with Parker's analysis. Before the JSF general could cut the transmissions, Williams stopped him with a question. "You knew, didn't you?"

Parker gave him a minuscule smirk before answering. _"I may have had an anonymous tip …_ _but really, it wasn't that hard to figure out the situation would lead us here."_

"Uh, huh." Williams replied, clearly skeptical of the general's intelligence gathering methods. "In any case, godspeed."

Parker looked down thoughtfully. _"Aliens invading on Christmas. Makes me wonder if they're the Dalek coming in revenge for so much bad press."_ A strange twinkle in his eye took years off his apparent age. He saluted. _"Good luck, general. Make us proud."_ The avatar vanished from the room.

General Williams turned and headed straight for the door. When he walked out of the room he noticed the lieutenant had disappeared. The sergeant was still checking the computer probably checking the connections, and his computer still gave off a reflective blinding light. Somehow, although everything still looked the same, it was all different.

* * *

 **Q & A:**

Guest: Well the attackers aren't the yahg that would be bad for the Alliance. But if the main enemy still eludes you, don't worry they'll be revealed in the following chapters

* * *

 **Trivia:**

1\. Doctor Who reference, who can resist? (Special thanks to ryuou)

2\. This particular chapter went through an almost unholy number of edits. Some of the ideas were dropped simply because this chapter has achieved over 25 pages of Word document (approximately 6,500 words), and too much is too much.

3\. The Field Marshal rank was originally a early Middle Ages position, given to the keeper of the king's horses. That was highly important, given that a good war horse was worth more than a dozen infantry, and became one of the highest ranks in military history. In France, Marshal of the Empire was bestowed upon only twenty-six individuals under Napoleon Bonaparte, notably Michael Ney, Louis Berthier and Andre Massena. The title was later changed to be a "Marshal of France," after the "Marshal General of France" was eliminated in 1848.

4\. One of the factors regarding the time frame of Alliance reinforcements arriving at Shanxi was the fact, that in canon, it took the Alliance well over a month before any fleet arrived in the turian-occupied planet. Here the timeframe is much more reasonable, being realistic for counting the massive logistical nightmare that would ensue, making the proper arrangements both formal and informal for the war, and the fact that readying an entire navy to repel an unknown threat will take lots of time. But for our loyal fans out there don't despair, there will be plenty of action and despair.

5\. Title is a tribute for all Endwar fans, where there is a Prelude to War campaign, hence the name.

6\. Yeah, in this fic's universe, Star Wars exists.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Stage is Set

12-25-2156, 1045 hours (Alliance standard time)

* * *

 **Arcturus Station**

 **Parliament Chambers**

If Carlo Bonaventura had to choose a single day as the one that would make him the most anxious, one that would've terrified him for what would come after, he would have chosen this day, hands down with no exceptions. Here he was standing center stage behind a khaki podium before the Alliance parliament, cameras and reporters were questioning him before he had even begun his address. Bonaventura resisted the urge to rub his tired eyes; silently wishing he had pre-recorded his statements rather than having to answer to dozens of hungry vultures disguised as parliament members and reporters. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. _'If I don't calm down, I'll start sweating any moment.'_

He took a deep breath. _'At least I've been able to practice my speech a few times.'_ His speech was based upon a standard formula: talk about the good things, get the crowd enthused about the progress humanity has made, how much it had done … before informing the public of the grim possibly of an alien invasion. He saw the tiny light blink on his wrist and took another deep breath. ' _Here goes nothing.'_

Just ahead and to the left, the emcee boomed in a deep voice, making the room vibrate. _"Ladies and gentlemen, your Prime Minister, Carlos Bonaventura."_

Bonaventura straightened his back, putting on the best 'commander-in-chief' expression he had. The effect was personally ruined in part by his mental prayers to not be humanity's _last_ prime minister. Nodding, he smiled kindly, but firmly to the applauding crowd. Keeping the motions slow but confident, he placed his hand written speech on top of the podium, cleared his throat, and began addressing the crowd.

"My fellow citizens," Bonaventura said, the normally innocuous flash of the press' holo-cameras and vid-bots nearly blinding him. "I thank you for hearing me this day. I know there are many things you could be doing, but what I have to say today is vitally important, in how we live, and in how our descendants shall live."

He waited out the whisperings, smiling internally. Claiming importance was nothing new … but claiming importance with such a relatively young organization was a make-or-break position. "Our history, as a species, has been defined by success and achievements. Countless times, we have pressed forward with immense will and intellectual fortitude, making history and permanently affecting the entire course of our species. War, science, literature, art, technology, machines, and discovery have long fueled our growth as a race." He paused for effect, "Since the dawn of man the question has been asked 'are we alone in the universe'?" He inhaled deeply, watching the awareness begin to creep in. He could see it in their eyes as it began dawning on them what he was talking about, the widening pupils, the occasional jaw dropping open. "Today I stand before all of you as your elected representative. It is both my duty and privilege, to honestly, truly, and safely say, that we are _not_ the only intelligent life in the galaxy."

The room immediately erupted into chaos. Reporters began asking questions without pause, trying to make themselves heard over the clatter. Parliament members demanded answers, others calling for military action. Bonaventura scowled, unable to even recognize individual languages in the verbal splatter.

He silenced them with a slam of his gavel, blasting their ear drums with its percussive force. He made his irritation known, glaring at the more vociferous members of his cabinet. "Less than two hours ago, during an expedition, a race of humanoid, space-faring beings called the Raloi made first extraterrestrial contact with the Ninety-Eigth Alliance detachment stationed at Shanxi. They made multiple attempts to communicate with the Alliance naval vessels as we rushed an elected official onto the scene. I am glad to say, that they only wish peaceful co-operation with our race." Feeling a sense of relief, but still somewhat nervous, he nodded, opening the floor to questions.

"Prime Minister Bonaventura!" shouted a reporter. "Are you sure it is a good idea trusting these 'Raloi' when we know very little about them. What if they are waiting to attack us?"

The floodgates seemed to break. Half of the press screamed questions, the other half typing frantically. Bonaventura could only imagine the headlines being sent at that moment. _'How will they take the next bit of news?'_ He wondered. For a moment, he glanced over the crowd, mentally comparing them to a herd of jackals. _'They will be fed this day.'_

Mixed among the voices, he could hear several strident voices rising over the crush. "What if they're carrying diseases or are fugitives?"

"What if they're-"

Bonaventura raised his hands, calming the tornado of voices. "I can assure you beyond a shadow of a doubt, every scenario has been accounted for," he spoke. "Our militaries are being raised to the highest possible level of alert." He nodded to the more militaristic Parliament members. "In the event of hostilities, we will be more than ready. In the event of toxins, whatever biological information the Raloi have shared with us is being sent to our scientists and hospitals where we will make our own decisions. I repeat: every possibility has been accounted for and we are acting accordingly." Bonaventura settled a little lower, fixing the gathered throng of people with a grim stare. "My grandfather had a saying once. It went like this, 'Always hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.' The Alliance is hopeful of establishing friendly contact with the Raloi, but our military will not hesitate to perform any action necessary to establish our security. Our soldiers are more than willing to enter the battlefield and win, because that is what they've been trained to do." Inhaling, Bonaventura chose his next words carefully.

"But that is merely half the story." His sudden change in mood and words captured the attention of everyone in the room. "I have since then been informed of another race detected beyond our borders, alien even to the raloi. We know even less about them, but from what we've gathered, their intentions are anything, but pure. The good news is that the raloi have pledged their full support in combating this alien threat. The new arrivals have positioned a fleet beyond Shanxi's system and it appears they wish to enact war. Well, I say to you now! If they want a fight, then that is what we will give them! History will remember that we did not provoke this act of aggression, that we did not start this war, but that we will certainly end it. Thank you." With his final words, Bonaventura exited the stage, escaping the beckoning camera flashed and shouted questions.

* * *

 _ **HSS Superiority**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

Rear Admiral Guri' Ban, commander of the 16th fleet, was considered by many to be the most barbaric and ruthless admiral in the Hegemony navy. Ban considered it to be a compliment worthy of his accomplishments, though others would call them atrocities. As a result, of what he perceived as jealousy, Hegemony rivals often tasked him with capturing slaves within Council space. In his long and brutal career, he raided salarian, asari, and even a few turian colonies, capturing hundreds of slaves and razing entire cities. He possessed a fearsome reputation as a cunning and brutal tactician, often employing mercenary slavers in his endeavors. While notorious for his coldblooded tactics, the same reputation ensured cooperation, adding more ships and soldiers to his already fearsome fleet. Only the legendary reputation of the krogan could surpass Ban's ruthlessness and brutality. Growing up amongst pirates, Ban knew from a young age how to break people's spirits and crush any hope they may have of being free once _annexed_ by the Hegemony.

At the mere age of sixteen, Ban had enlisted in the Hegemony navy, already rich in experience by serving on various pirate ships two years prior. While his introduction onto the scene was anything but spectacular, Ban's rise to prominence came after his plan to raid three asari colonies within three days, capturing over 7,000 slaves and marking the infamous 'Three Days of Tears' in the asari calendar. That single event had earned Ban both the respect and fear of the Hegemony government, shown in an immediate promotion to rear admiral, much to the dismay of the Asari Republics. The Hierarchy and the Union did not appeared to be surprised, but voiced anger nonetheless and had increased funding for their respective navies.

Upon his promotion to rear admiral and due to his accomplishments, Ban had been offered his choice of command, anything from the light and fast corvettes to the larger, bigger dreadnoughts. Desiring to command a ship worthy of his status, he had requested the _HSS Superiority,_ a newly commissioned 2.1 kilometer long dreadnought with some of the most advanced technology the Hegemony could buy, steal, or pirate.

The very first thing he did once he took command of the _Superiority_ was to immediately raid a volus colony, capturing several prominent bankers. These new slaves were then put to work managing the Hegemony's economy. As expected, the Council barked but didn't bite, although the Hierarchy did appear to finally had enough and was ready to declare war before the asari managed to dissuade them by threatening sanctions. Ban knew the Hierarchy would easily win and withstand any casualties in a fight with the Hegemony, but the cowardly asari weren't willing to make the same sacrifices. The Matriarchs knew if the Hierarchy declared war on the Hegemony, multiple batarian terrorist, slaver, and pirate groups would target not only the Hierarchy, but the Republics as well, causing tremendous damage. It was the asari's fear of attack from batarian reprisals that held the turians on a tight leash, leaving the Hegemony free to continue its slaving practices.

Under Ban's leadership, the Hegemony 16th fleet became the scourge of Council Space, with a formidable complement of just over 400 ships and thousands of troop transports and auxiliary vessels. The commanders were all veterans, their ships ranging from corvettes experienced in countering the salarian elite, to some of the few Hegemony dreadnoughts skilled in long-range bombardment. Now after seventeen years of service, Ban once again found himself on the edge of another golden opportunity. If he managed to pacify a newly discovered race, he would return as a champion to the Hegemony and receive a just reward for his efforts. Of course one obstacle did stand in his way: Lieutenant Commander Toren, the original discoverer of the primitive race.

Being given a commanding position in the raid, Toren had believed himself to be above all others in the fleet, something that aggravated Ban greatly. Luckily, every naval commander in the fleet knew of his fearsome reputation. His word was law, and the only one ignorant of that fact was the brat in question. Toren was a fool to think he was capable of leading a flotilla, much less a fleet.

Of course, Toren's tantrum over not getting a dreadnought slowed the entire fleet's progress. After fifteen minutes of whining, Ban had finally condescended, giving the simpleton command of one of his dreadnoughts. He made sure to have the original commander of the ship, as well as most of the crew, transferred to the _Superiority_. Normally when a higher officer takes command over a ship, the captain would remain in position, however Ban didn't want to risk one of his own officers in the hands of an imbecile. It was an open secret; Ban had taken the demand for a dreadnought as a personal insult, but it was equally known that he would put work first and grudges second. There would be a time for executions after the primitives had been given their own opportunity to do the work for him.

With a proud stature, Ban entered the command deck of his ship where he would lead his fleet to victory once more. He stalked to the galaxy map, wasting little time in pleasantries, preferring to get to work quickly. The map changed from a view of the galaxy to just the local system in detail. It showed the star and its surrounding planets, consisting of two in the habitable zone and two large gas giants well outside any species' habitable zone. The most intriguing fact was that the Relay, a known dormant, at the edge of the system was active, an utterly remarkable fact.

"What are the reports?" Ban asked.

Flight Lieutenant Ib-ba looked up from the array of controls. "Sir, our scans show the Relay has been used recently. Neither we nor any Citadel race currently has any ships in this system, so whoever might have been here either left or used the Relay to jump into another system." He tapped a report into view, sending it to the admiral with a flick of his fingers. "If a primitive race is located nearby, chances are great they'll be located on the other side of the Relay." Ib-ba tapped another command, and then turned a full meat-eating smile to his superior officer. "The fleet is currently making top speed towards it and will be arriving at the target system momentarily. All ships are reporting in and are ready for combat."

"Very well, keep up the standard procedure and get me Lieutenant Commander Toren on the line," Ban ordered. He began mentally preparing himself before talking to the one batarian he would most enjoy killing.

The comms flared to life and a single voice came through the speakers.

" _Rear Admiral Ban, what can I do for you?"_ asked a deep batarian voice in a mocking manner. While the title had been adequately spoken, there was no accompanying salute, proper respect paid, not even a hint of the almost required head tilt. Ban's blood almost boiled at the deliberate insult, but he kept himself under control.

"Toren, my fleet is approaching the Relay and are about to jump into an unknown system. If our projections are correct, we may find a garden world inhabited by primitives. If that is the case we'll begin deploying men groundside immediately. Unless the situation changes, I want you to take the Na'Hesit group and target any major cities. Understood?" Ban asked, his tone demanding complete obedience. The information posed a dual purpose, both telling the Lieutenant Commander of the plan and ensuring the lowly batarian whom was in command.

" _Yes, Ban. My men are eager for a fight. Just send us the coordinates after your ships scan the planet."_ Toren replied, intentionally forgetting to use the admiral's rank.

Ban cut the link, desiring as little to do with the batarian as he could. The insult had not gone unnoticed, causing Ban's eye to twitch at the arrogance the lieutenant commander held. He would like nothing better than to have his own ship pour fire on the presumptuous idiot, but that would mean a waste of good batarian soldiers. Plus if he was lucky, Toren would get killed by the primitive race. He could only hope.

"Anyone want to make bets on how long it'll take for us to pacify this race?" asked Vras Me-Shume, the ship's gunnery officer.

Sub-commander Gonu growled in annoyance. "It doesn't matter. Primitives incapable of covering their tracks couldn't take on a Hegemony flotilla, let alone a full suppression fleet."

"You forget, if the salarians noticed one of our fleets missing they'll be certain to alert the Hierarchy," Amon said. As the official representative of the Na'Hesit, he carried a certain amount of fear among the crew. "I'd rather be gone if or when they show up. If I know the salarians well, the Hierarchy is already informed and is trying to pressure the Council into acting."

"Irrelevant. Once we arrive in the system, destroy whatever pathetic ships they have present and commence ground deployment," Ban ordered. "I want this done right, am I understood?" His fierce gaze raked over the crew, causing them to nod. "Good."

The ship cruised almost silently under their feet, powering through the distances. The massive, ancient piece of technology ahead grew larger, until they reached the optimal range.

"Sir, we are approaching the Relay and activating the FTL drive," Ib-ba said as the ship was engulfed by the Relay's current before being sling-shot across a vast distance of space. Seconds later, the batarian dreadnought exited FTL, quickly followed by the rest of the fleet. All batarian vessels dropped into normal space set in combat formation. Decades of practice and frequent raids, gave the 16th fleet readiness to meet the small defensive formation of alien ships waiting for them.

"Sir, we have contact with ships of unknown origin. Profiles don't match any known Citadel signatures. Mostly likely this is the primitive race Toren was speaking of." Ib-ba's hands flew over the controls. "They are currently holding defensive formation in front of a garden world, possibly their homeworld," Ib-ba reported, the ship's scanners rapidly pinging. "Total numbers place the enemy fleet at seventy ships with the largest reaching battle cruiser class."

"This is going to be easy," Gonu said, grinning at the odds. "All ships, ready weapons and begin selecting targets. Let's show this primitive race the might of the Hegemony!" Over the comms, several commanders yelled in agreement.

Ban, on the other hand was thinking darker thoughts. The video feed clearly showed two distinct types of ships, which only he seemed to be greatly aware of. _'Two different ship designs? Toren you idiot, didn't you bother sending in a probe first to gather intelligence or even make a slight attempt to investigate the system? No matter, we have them heavily outnumbered.'_

He began an examination of the enemy fleet. Years of practice had taught him to incorporate as much data as soon as possible; naval battles were treacherous, even with a decided advantage. Over three dozen of the unknown vessels were apparently frigate class, while less than twenty were cruisers. Only three of the enemy ships managed to reach near or above a kilometer long, compared to Ban's three dreadnoughts. Roughly half of the ships had a smooth, slim profile, curved and sleek, yet the scans showed them to be heavily armed and armored. They were multi-colored, unlike the more pragmatic Hegemony vessels, white with a blue stripe along the hull. The other half was coated in a silver shade and had an aquatic look with the front halves of the ships exhibiting a curved tip while the rear swooped in a circular fashion. The silver ships were giving usual eezo readings, while the multi-colored ones were surprisingly giving off low readings.

' _It appears Toren was mistaken. Either we have two different species, appearing to have an alliance of sorts or one species with two highly differentiated factions. If the former, the multi-colored ship builders appear to be more energy efficient ... if the latter, we have a possible schizophrenic subspecies? Regardless, I now possibly have two races to conquer,'_ Ban thought.

The processing took less than two minutes. He shifted, activating the wide-band address. "All ships, this is Rear Admiral Ban speaking, assume battle formation. Target the comm. buoys first." Following his orders, the batarian fleet began to re-organize to the more offensive formation. The comm. buoys were easily destroyed by his fleet's corvettes; disrupting his foes' communications. Ban didn't have to worry about the enemy opening fire, since both fleets were still out of range from each other. He held no doubt whatsoever about the success of his mission and clearly understood the importance of a quick victory. The Council could not, under any circumstances, find out what was about to occur.

With the initial bombardment out of the way, Ban moved to stand before the main view screen, looking at the space beyond. He had his hands crossed behind his back, watching the scene calmly, quietly, patiently waiting for his fleet to take up proper formation. Aside from the four hundred and two ships, he had over three million soldiers under his command; Toren's slaver group added another quarter million soldiers and fifty vessels to his already large force. Plenty of soldiers … or so he hoped.

In space, with the enhanced vision the main screen afforded him, he saw the batarian fleet moving into position like a rehearsed play. Corvette flotilla packs, lead by frigates, sidled, flanking the fleet's edges. Battle cruisers and their smaller kin formed a semi-hemisphere in front of the fleet's three dreadnoughts, providing a screen of fire while protecting the command vessels.

Ban calmly witnessed the scene from his ship, pride flowing in him at the immense professionalism displayed by his men. "Accelerate to combat speed, center of the primitive fleet. Once in range target their largest ships before advancing on the colony. Flotilla packs are to perform evasive actions and flank the enemy on their sides. I don't want a single enemy vessel left standing," He ordered, exuberant confidence showing on his face. This was war; this was how honors were won.

* * *

 ** _SSV Hawking_**

 **Carrier**

 **Command Deck**

"Stephen, are you sure that these readings are correct?" Wang asked the AI in disbelief. Even with the early warnings provided from Hackett's probes, the news was still baffling. Barely an hour had passed since contact with the raloi and now, a huge fleet of ships had appeared in the system. Stephen's initial estimates placed the unknown fleet to be approximately four hundred ships, which had prompted an immediate warning call to all Alliance and Confederate ships.

"I know it may be hard to believe, but I assure you that I am correct in my calculations. There are precisely four hundred and fifty two ships, fifty of which are acting as the vanguard and are rapidly advancing," the AI replied in its phlegmatic, but impersonal voice. "I estimate fifteen minutes before they are within weapons range."

The bridge's crew was shocked into silence by the news. A huge fleet of hostile ships had just entered one of mankind's frontier systems. The prominent fact that they were the only thing standing between the colony and the oncoming horde was slowly trickling into their minds. Realization caused a chill to cross the bridge so strong it caused them to stop their tasks to process the information.

"My God," Wang was dumbstruck. Never in his career in the navy had he seen such a concentration of ships and to make matters worse, they were hostile. Even with his hastily formed defensive strategy, Wang was fairly certain he could not hold out long enough for reinforcements. "Get General Williams and Admiral Talal on the line right now!" While the destruction of the comm. buoys near the Relay had practically isolated the system, Wang could still use his ship's own comms. to communicate with Arcturus or any other allied personnel.

"Yes, sir." The communications officer said, barely able to control his emotions. The fact that he still operated with a certain level of efficiency was a credit to his training.

"Stephen, go to Red Alert. I want every ship we have to bring their cyber warfare suites to full capacity. Tell them to start selecting out targets." Wang said, issuing a new set of orders. The AI acknowledged the request, relaying the orders rapidly to the rest of the newly-formed fleet at such a speed that no organic could possibly hope to match.

Pressing commands on his console, Wang reconfigured his communication request, bouncing the signal transmissions to the communications room. "Commander Marché, you have the deck," Wang said, heading straight for the bridge's exit.

Commander Marché stared at Wang's retreating figure, apparently waiting for the procedural transfer, but quickly realized the enormity of the situation and nodded once. "Yes, sir. I will not fail you." He said. The commander turned to the crew, pretending to show a calm he did not feel, and starting barking orders. "I want a report on the ship's systems ASAP. Get moving people, we do not have all day!"

The orders of Marchè faded into silence as the bridge's doors closed behind Wang, habit directing him towards the heart of the ship. Knowing the enemy fleet was approaching, Wang walked as fast as he could without looking comical. Down a ramp, back under an overhang, laired a door bearing the inscription: 'Communications', Wang entered into a security checkpoint scanner, guarded by two marines. The scanners, sometimes derided as a useless expense, served to protect the entrance into the second most important area of the ship.

"Sir," greeted one of the marines, making a quick salute.

"Chief," he replied, returning the salute and entering through a great square. A moment later a white grid flew across the square from side to side for a few seconds. Wang hated the procedure, taking up invaluable time that he did not have. After the grid finished scanning his biometric signature, Wang quickly walked through the checkpoint and into a large room, inscribed with the letters 'MWWAN', which stood for microwave-based wireless wide-area network.

Inside, Wang pressed several panels on the main console before him. The oval room grew dark and the captain hastened to position himself within the grid being etched in the dark polished floor. Soon he became wrapped in another white grid, but this one serving to project his image rather than scanning his biometrics. He took a deep breath, knowing that doing so would delay the scanning procedure, but it was justified: he was anxious. Closing, and then opening his eyes, Wang looked around the new enormous dark room and saw two familiar figures. One was human, the other was alien. He breathed again, almost relieved by the very sight of both of them

"General Williams, Admiral Talal," Wang greeted. "We have much to discuss, and little time in which to do it in."

* * *

 **Alliance Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

Finally done with the impromptu meeting with the other four commanding officers, Williams was about to exit the communications building when a sergeant came in running and warned him of another incoming priority message this time from the human/raloi fleet. He was unable to do anything but quickly agree, partially to avoid annoying the raloi, and partially to gain as much information as possible. In war, battles were won by knowing as much as possible.

Entering the room again and repeating the procedure typical of a MWWAN, he inserted his channel and frequency codes. Immediately his projected image was transported to a huge dark room he had seen only a few times prior. The room represented extremely high security, notifying the users of the importance of the communication, and was used solely for the most confidential of conversations.

The images of the Alliance and Confederate naval commanders appeared almost a second later.

" _General Williams, Admiral Talal,"_ the human captain greeted. _"We have much to discuss and little time in which to do it in."_

"This better be important captain. I'm in the middle of preparing the colonial defense," Williams said quietly, but with an angry inflection in his voice.

" _I'm sure that the captain called us for a reason, general,"_ Talal said, having a strangely soothing voice. It calmed him instantly.

" _I can assure you that it is,"_ Wang answered, projecting an overview of the system with a hand gesture. _"Admiral Talal, I have ordered my officers to send you a copy of the enemy fleet's formation and numbers."_

" _My thanks, captain. Our technicians have noted the enemy's cannons are a bit more powerful than ours, but by how much is unknown,"_ the admiral said, with a hint of shame laced in his words.

" _Do not worry about it. We have much more important matters to deal with. My ship's AI has performed analyzes on the situation, and came to a conclusion that is disconcerting to say the least,"_ Wang said, emphasizing disconcerting.

Williams felt attracted by the Alliance captain's words and could not refrain from asking. "Disconcerting? In what way?"

The map near Wang vanished, reforming into a closer resolution of the Relay. Red dots poured out of it like water, advancing towards Shanxi. When the torrent finally stopped, a small counter on the edge of the map revealed an enormous tally.

Williams choked "So many enemies? Where did they come from?" His stomach churned, disheartened. He had never seen so many ships together. The only silver lining was that the enemy fleet was still too of weapons range.

Talal features grew into a frown, becoming greatly concerned by the revelation. _"So this is it ... we're outnumbered, at least on a naval basis."_ He had obviously known the enemy possessed more ships, but he didn't realize it was by such a wide margin. The magnitude was indeed staggering.

" _Unfortunately, yes."_ Wang concluded. _"However, the few mines put in place by our corvettes should stall them for a time. Based on preliminary scans, the enemy fleet appears to be lacking any nuclear capabilities or detection measures; meaning they have no way of detecting the minefield or Hackett's ships."_

" _And once the trap has been sprung, the enemy fleet won't realize an Alliance flotilla powering up less than a hundred kilometers from their starboard side."_ Talal concluded.

Wang smiled at Talal's comprehension of naval warfare. _"Absolutely correct. This will give us the chance to eliminate a good portion of the enemy fleet. It won't be much, but every gain we make will no doubt delay them."_

Williams was not a sailor and was well aware that his two companions knew more about space combat than he did. "It's not all bad. We now have the enemy's strengths, numbers, and probable goals. Captain, admiral do what you can in space. Now if you'll excuse me I have a planet to prepare," he said before giving a salute to both naval commanders. "May god be with you both." He closed the connection with the two. Turning around, he headed towards the exit once more. Walking back outside, he found the sergeant and to his surprise, Colonel Matthews.

"Colonel," Williams beckoned the man closer without changing his pace. "There is no time to lose."

"General, we have some strange reports coming in from the fleet ..." The colonel started, but Williams raised his hand, stopping him.

"I already know everything. Perhaps more than I like," he said. Noticing the confusion on the colonel's face, Williams instead changed the topic to more pressing matters. "Right now I need your full attention. We're currently under Stigma Protocol. All human forces are now currently under the command of the Alliance and are being readied to combat a possible alien invasion. Arcturus is sending reinforcements, but the first wave is scheduled to arrive in over two weeks." Williams explained, watching the colonel soak all the information in.

"Until then? What do we do?" Matthews questioned. He suspected the reinforcements would come in the form of the System's Alliance 23rd Marine Frontier Division, supplemented by the 62nd and 81st Airborne Divisions. The marine divisions were known to patrol the outer borders of Alliance Space, so they would be already prepared for rapid deployment. However, the naval support sent with the 5th fleet would be a mystery since Arcturus command had little intelligence on the enemy's capabilities.

Williams stopped walking, turning to stare at Matthews straight in the eye. "We hold the line." He spun back, continuing to walk, and began issuing orders. "Send our marines and paratroopers to oversee power planets, main road junctions, and major cities unoccupied by national governments. Any police forces we have will be used to escort civilians to safety and act as the last line of defense. If things go well we may not have to use them."

Deep down, Williams knew a great many lives would be lost in the upcoming days. All he could do was make sure the majority of the lives lost were the enemy's. "Colonel, disguise this base's profile. Main transmitters, paint strips, everything identifying us as a main command center should either be removed or altered. With any luck, the enemy won't realize our central command is located here. Keep the main shield offline; we'll save power and keep a lower profile that way. Activate it only if we are going to get hit by something really big, maybe it will give us a chance to survive." The colonel was about to take the lead, but Williams altered their path toward the armory.

"General?"

"We need to be armed, colonel, plus I have to check how many guns we have in stock. That'll be easier to do from the armory. The enemy is in the system and I don't know how long Wang and the Raloi can hold out. If possible order the militias we have available to hide in rural areas and offer them whatever is left in inventory. The more guns we have on our side the better. What N7 operatives we do have, prepare them for disruptive actions against the enemy. Once that's done, I want you and three other officers to go to these coordinates," He said, bringing up his omni-tool and sending the burst of information to the colonel.

"What is this?" Matthews' voice was beginning to show a deeper concern with the general's behavior.

"It leads to a hollowed out cave. Inside is a set of heavy set of steel doors leading to an Alliance bunker we placed there in case of nuclear war between the Big Four. I'll stay here, directing the defense of the city, and will reach you when the time comes." Williams hoped the colonel bought what he was saying. In reality he'd die before abandoning his brothers and sisters in arms.

"But general, if we lose you ..." The colonel tried in vain to dissuade Williams' from his thoughts.

"Go colonel. I can take care of myself." Williams brushed off the younger man's protests with a quick salute before continuing to walk towards the armory.

* * *

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **Council Chamber**

The Citadel, a large station in the void of space, served as the heart and mind of the galaxy. It was a marvelous and mysterious fortress that had been proof against any attack. Those that had designed it, the renowned Protheans, had built it of the same material as their Relays. The enigmatic race had created this magnificent structure as their greatest work yet discovered, for reasons no one yet understood they simply vanished. The mammoth construction stretched over 44 kilometers in length, and spread itself nearly 13 kilometers wide, large enough to house and protect tens of millions of lives.

The Element Zero energy system developed by the Protheans to power the Citadel had been eagerly adopted by those that had followed them. Vehicles, spaceships, and a thousand other technologies used the iridescent crystal in a myriad of different ways. The protective weaponry on the Citadel drew energy from the never-seen core, motivating the original asari explorers to create miniature versions for themselves. The Beacons that had graciously introduced the various races to Element Zero powered technology had been mere tidbits compared to the depth of creative design evident within the Citadel.

Over two thousand years after the discovery of the Citadel, the asari still had yet to plumb its secrets. The salarians, a race of extremely intelligent amphibians, had made discoveries in leaps and bounds using the original hardware, but nothing they had created ever truly matched the Prothean Citadel for scope and complexity.

The famed Presidium stood proudly at the center of the Citadel, the unchanging, never-moving axis around which the Wards rotated. The edifice could be thought of as a metaphor for the governing bodies of the galaxy, the source of power that enabled the signatory members of the galaxy to perform their tasks. Indeed, the Presidium was where the ultimate authority of Citadel space convened, the Council.

The Council itself was an executive committee comprised of one representative from the three greatest races known to the galaxy, each with unique characteristics that complemented the others. The asari, a mono-gendered race and original discoverers of the Citadel, served as the stations diplomats and mediators. Their long-lived peoples moved with an innate grace, and understated power that only hinted at the centuries they had experienced.

The salarians, the second oldest Council race, had the shortest lifespan. Their limited existence was more than compensated by having, as a race, a brilliant mindset. The lesser intelligent of their race was capable of making intuitive deductions on minimal information, a skill that the asari had joyously accepted. The salarians served as the eyes and ears of the Citadel, creating ever-newer methods of surveillance and sabotage.

The turians, a noble and honorable race, provided the bulk of military and peacekeeping forces. Discovered by the salarians, the turian race had been an interstellar empire centuries before the Council had even known of their existence. Their overwhelming contribution to the Council had been that of stoic resolve, creating a much-needed counterpoint to the salarian drive for advancement and the phlegmatic asari lifestyle. The Rachni Wars had been credited to the salarians insatiable curiosity, a double-edged weapon. While the rachni had nearly destroyed the galaxy, the solution had been nearly as devastating, and equally due to salarian curiosity. The krogan had been discovered by the same curiosity, and uplifted against the rachni, only to turn on their benefactors when nothing could challenge their military prowess. The arrival of the Turians was a godsend and marked a turning point in the rebellions. After much heavy fighting, the Turians had managed to defeat the krogan using salarian brilliance … but had never trusted the ephemeral race since.

Representatives of each race formed the Council, which convened in the Presidium to discuss interaction between their peoples and to consider the laws. Most meetings were open to the public, a way for everyone to have a say in their government and an effort to maintain a transparent system.

Unknown to its denizens, the Citadel Council did not conduct _all_ its business in an open court. Some situations required the need of a discrete environment. Thus when it was reported by the salarian STG that the Hegemony's infamous 16th fleet had not only dropped out of communications, but had completely vanished, the Council decided to hold a private session.

The room the three most powerful individuals in the galaxy had chosen to convey in was open on one side, finished with a transparent viewport stretching from floor to ceiling. The glass provided the beautiful scenery of the wards was one-way, posing as a reflective wall behind a beautiful waterfall in the Presidium Park, creating a double-protection from unwanted surveillance. In the center of the room stood a circular, granite covered conference table. All three of its seats were vacant.

"We should discuss the situation regarding the batarians," the turian councilor, Sparatus insisted. For a turian Councilor he was very young, less than thirty years of age. Both his youth and natural bloodline aided him in taking a militaristic approach to most issues. He had voiced approval for repealing the Treaty of Farixen, a view shared by most turians. Sparatus knew he was regarded as having a one-mind approach by Councilor Tevos, but he genuinely believed in eradicating a threat before it had a chance to grow. With the treaty in place, the construction of dreadnoughts had been limited in proportion to Council members. It was one of the few immutable founding rules that for every one dreadnought each associate race had, the salarians and asari were allowed to have three, with the turians possessing five.

The balance was designed to provide a measure of security, halt reckless military spending by all races, and provide the Hierarchy with a numerical edge. However, the turians had long since seen it as a way to keep them on a leash. Even with a total of 200 dreadnoughts in its navy, the Hierarchy still lacked the necessary firepower to keep pirates from raiding their colonies. The batarians had a laughable stock of 40 dreadnoughts, but they compensated by employing slaver groups and massive numbers of lesser vessels. There were hundreds of them roaming the Terminus and the Traverse, each with at least one dreadnought in their _fleets_.

Soliris cleared her throat. "STG Intelligence reports that the Hegemony's 16th fleet has simply …, for a lack of a better term, vanished. Spectre teams stationed in the Terminus have reported the same. Tevos, I believe I do not need to remind you of how a great concern this poses. You of all people should know what happened last time." Her natural vocal speed was reduced, in order to be understood better by the other species; the original language was able to convey far more information in less time than either the turian or asari dialects. She had been trained well, as the salarian representative to the Council. Like Sparatus, Soliris had a military mind-set. Her species' natural pursuit of knowledge was considered by many to be both an asset and a curse.

"I am well aware of the possible consequences of such an action, Admiral Ban specifically," Tevos responded, looking at Soliris across the table with her bright eyes. Her voice was calm and reasonable, the paragon of diplomatic detachments for which the asari were famed. "But, the threat of armed conflict should be used as a last resort. A war with the Terminus Systems would be catastrophic at a best." Despite her calm approach to the situation, Tevos' approval rating by the asari Matriarchs had dropped significantly after her lack of armed response to the worst tragedy ever experienced by the Republics in centuries: the Three Days of Tears.

Sparatus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It was the same tired excuse the asari had always made when any military response to the batarians was presented. Ironically, if the turians were simply allowed to enter the Terminus, and by extension, batarian territory, there would be no need to debate a 'proper' response to the batarians. "So, what do you propose? Attempt to communicate with the batarian ambassador? Perhaps feed him expensive foods while avoiding uncomfortable questions?"

"If possible, yes," Tevos replied, ignoring the second question. Although she was a diplomat of the Council, the true goal of each representative was to enhance the standing of their own species. In this, she was more than willing to put the welfare of the asari over that of their allies. All of the Matriarchs had agreed: in any armed conflict between the batarians and the turians, the asari would suffer the most in the crossfire. The point of contention amongst the Matriarchs was whether the cost was worth it.

"We have tried that road in the past, Tevos. Look at all it has accomplished."Sparatus slapped his palm on the table. It wasn't quite as impressive as when the five-fingered asari performed the same action. "Every time we attempt negotiating a treaty, the batarians always complain about repressing their _cultural_ rights. Any treaty or trade deal we make, the batarians either demand terms we cannot support, or ignore our work completely."

"What do you suggest? Send a Council fleet into batarian territory? You know how they will respond," Tevos countered.

"Perhaps not …." The smile the salarian had was enough to both intrigue and alarm the other Councilors.

"What do you mean?" Sparatus questioned. His mandibles pressed flat against his jaw, suppressing a hopeful twinge.

"I've received information from STG teams monitoring the Relay network. Their data shows the Hegemony's 16th fleet last known location was near Relay 314." The salarian's large eyes gleamed; a salarian with important, unknown information was a happy salarian. "As you know, Relay 314 is inactive, frozen by the last audit."

"Soliris, you can't possibly be saying—" Tevos began.

"For certain, I cannot say the batarians have actually tried to activate a dormant Mass Relay and then used it. However, all the evidence I have received points to that conclusion. To whit: The batarians ignore Council law on a regular basis. The most notorious fleet in the Hegemony has gone missing. Said missing fleet was last seen by a dormant Alpha class Relay." Her tridactyl fingers spread expressively. "Therefore, there is no direct evidence, but a compelling series of circumstances."

"Then we have an opportunity at hand."

"Sparatus?" Tevos' tone was wary.

"Activating any dormant Mass Relays is strictly forbidden by Council law. The batarians know this for a fact. Its one thing to hide behind primitive customs, but outright disobedience of a law that has stood since the Rachni Wars is an act that _cannot_ go unpunished. How will the associate races react when they learn this?" Sparatus jutted his chin forwards, daring the asari to deny him. "The Hegemony is purposefully risking another Rachni War, no matter their reasoning. If this doesn't call for military intervention, then I would be forced to question your sanity!"

Tevos tilted her head, acknowledging the point, although eliding the direct challenge. "Are you suggesting we start a war with the batarians? Soliris herself said the STG is not a hundred percent certain that the batarians even _activated_ the Relay." Tevos drew a breath, "War is always the last resort. We have no proof, no justification for it. While I too doubt progress in the diplomatic field, that is our only legal course with the batarians."

Sparatus snorted. "Hardly our _only_ course of action. What I suggest is sending a Hierarchy fleet to investigate Relay 314. If it still dormant, than we can discuss on how to deal with the batarians with as much diplomacy as you wish." He shared a look with Soliris, "Among the topics of discussion, I want to know where the 16th fleet is located. However, if the Relay is active, then there is no doubt Rear Admiral Ban has broken Council law. In that case the Hierarchy fleet has both the authority _, and the responsibility_ , to travel through it and apprehend those responsible for breaking the law." The turian councilor took a deep breath. "This is beyond our Council, Tevos. We cannot risk another Rachni War. To ignore something of such magnitude is beyond foolish. The lives of billions rest in our hands."

Tevos turned to her right, silently asking Soliris for her opinion. The salarian nodded soberly. "This is a dangerous situation. Very dangerous indeed. If the batarians discovery a race far worse than the Rachni and we did nothing to stop them, then we would be equally guilty for whatever happens afterward."

Tevos sighed again. "Those in favor of sending a Hierarchy fleet to Relay 314?"

Both the turian and salarian Councilors raised their hands. Outnumbered in the democratic vote, Tevos had no choice but to go along with her colleagues plans. "Very well, then. A Hierarchy fleet will be sent to the aforementioned Relay. Sparatus, do you have a specific fleet in mind?"

"I believe the Second Fleet under the command of Admiral Servius would be the best choice," he replied. "He is a level-headed commander who always attempts diplomacy first before committing to an armed response."

"Very well. If there is no more business, this meeting will be adjourned. Tomorrow, we have a petition from the Volus Protectorate, and a number of trade agreements to consider. I wish you well." Tevos tapped the ceremonial gavel she, as senior member, carried.

Silently, they left the room, concentrating on the potential ramifications. The fate of the galaxy hung on the actions of the next few days.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yep, ended with a cliff hanger. The next chapter is when all hell breaks loose. Also competent Council and Batarians? What sorcery is this? :)

 **T** **rivia:**  
1\. Bonaventura's speech was inspired by Endwar itself where a narrator states that they did not start a war, but they will end it.

2\. Ban's character and nature naturally sprang out as a counter-point to Toren's personality. In the upcoming chapters you will learn about the similarities as well as major differences between the two characters.

3\. The Three Days of Tears was created to highlight Ban's brilliance as well as show how much of a thorn he is on the Council's side. I mean he practically dances around them.

4\. Yeah the Turians have 200 dreadnoughts, you didn't see that coming now did you? This was done for two reasons: To highlight the superior military might of the turians compared to all other races and to have a more realistic number of ships. I mean after 1200 years and only 38 dreadnoughts constructed while the Alliance has 8? Yeah not likely.

5\. The idea of hundreds of pirate fleets roaming around the Terminus and Traverse was to show a more logical reason why the asari would want to avoid war with them. Even though they have no singular leader, the fact that each one of them has at least one dreadnought upon of the Hegemony's 40 you can see why the current state of affairs are the way they are. Now both Sparatus and Tevos have enough reason for their stance and they are both right, its just up to the reader to decide if it will be worth it. I mean look at the middle east right now, after years of intervention it pretty much is the same as it was before.

6\. Chapter title is another Endwar reference, where the timeline trailer states: 'The Stage is Set.'


	6. Chapter 6 - David vs Goliath

12-25-2156, 1055 hours (Alliance standard time)

 _ **SSV Hawking**_

 **Carrier**

 **Command Deck**

After informing Talal and Williams of the situation, Wang had returned to the bridge of his ship, much to the relief of his XO. It was not a moment too soon as the enemy ships were nearly within weapons range. Wang could feel the crew's anxiety, each member trying their best to fight it down only for it to show even more.

"Captain, the enemy is 60,000 kilometers and closing. Orders?" Stephen asked.

"Attempt to hail them. Perhaps we can diffuse the situation. If our hails are ignored, then prepare for war," he replied.

He watched the transmitter flash as the AI began sending hails to the enemy ships. There was no responding flicker, meaning all hails were being completely ignored. "Sir, the enemy has ignored all hails. They are now within 55,000 kilometers." The AI shifted the display to an enhanced image of the enemy fleet.

The closer images allowed Wang the opportunity to get a good look at the alien vessels. Unlike the Confederate or Alliance ships, the enemy lacked any color schemes. Their ships were eminently pragmatic with minimal paint or even numeric identification symbols, perhaps in an attempt to cut maintenance costs. Overall the ships had a blocky shape, with spikes protruding from the bow of the ships, giving them a dark and cruel look. Obviously, they were designed to carry weapons and armor, but Steven's subtle indicators didn't show much variety in the sensory department. Wang didn't want to take that assumption though, who knew what hidden talents the hostiles could posses?

Regardless, there was a job to do. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and possibly even outmatched, but Wang would make _damn_ sure they weren't outfought. He moved to the command chair, and sat, letting the gravity of the situation pull on him. For what he knew could be the last time, he keyed the general address frequency. "All ships this is Captain Wang speaking," he began. "A large alien fleet has arrived on our doorstep. When we began this day we never dreamed of it leading us here, but the sad truth is it has. Now we find ourselves under threat from a new enemy, alongside new allies. This will be a fight against overwhelming odds from which survival cannot be expected. We will do what damage we can. Whatever happens today, I just want to take this time to say it has been honor serving with each and every one of you."

The captain's words weren't met with applause or cheers, but rather with slow nods and straightened backs. Pride, in both themselves and in their task, began showing in their faces.

"Stephen, how far is the enemy fleet from the minefield?" Wang asked.

"Less than a kilometer," the AI replied. "They are 50,000 kilometers ahead of us, but the corvettes do not have any replacements, should the enemy fleet deviate from their course. I am currently in contact with the Raloi vessels for updated data."

The captain looked at the system map, the display tracking every ship in the system via probes deployed by frigates and corvettes. The alien fleet was formidable, their vanguard consisting of light frigates and corvettes while their heavier ships were positioned in the center. Based on the enemy's formation, Wang could easily deduce the enemy was trying to enclose his fleet and then destroy it with their superior numbers. The captain shook his head. While the strategy was sound, it was also very basic. It seemed the aliens believed humanity was uneducated in the art of naval warfare. Wang would gladly prove them wrong.

"Wait until they are in the middle of the mines, and then detonate them. That'll be Hackett's signal to attack. Forward targets of opportunity to every Confederate and Alliance-"

"Sir, the enemy vanguard has just fired a salvo!" A sensor operator yelled.

"All ships, this is Captain Wang. Brace for imp-" He was cut off as the force of the enemy's initial barrage slammed into the _Hawking's_ shields, causing the ship to shudder under the massive force. Several standing crewmembers were either thrown to the nearest wall or onto the floor. Despite being in the rear of the formation, the carrier was still hit by numerous torpedoes. Thankfully their effectiveness was drastically reduced by the carrier's active missile/torpedo signal scrambler.

"Status, report!" Wang shouted.

"Seven cruisers and nine frigates have been destroyed," Stephen answered.

"Damn, they have the range before we do," Wang cursed. "Once the enemy fires another volley, activate the carrier's ECM. The computer jammers should neglect some damage while we unleash our own."

"Affirmative captain," Steven replied. "Update on the alien fleet: Hostile corvettes and frigates are entering the minefield!"

"Spring the trap and make these fuckers regret ever coming here!" He demanded.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 _ **HSS Superiority**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

Ban watched as the mass accelerator rounds from his fleet's vanguard sailed through the gap between the two opposing formations. He didn't have to wait long for the mass accelerator slugs to reach their destination. Seven cruisers and nine frigates from the enemy fleet were destroyed in a spectacular display of tactical prowess, a typical end result of any one opposing him.

"Ha! These primitives are hopeless. Look at how easily their ships are destroyed," Gonu exclaimed. The ship's crew erupted with cheers as the 16th fleet drew first blood.

Ban silently agreed with Gonu, minus the arrogance. Being an experienced naval commander, he knew the worst enemy any soldier could face was one's own pride. He watched as Toren's corvettes and frigates continued advancing undisturbed towards the enemy fleet. While lacking in experience or discipline, Ban was still grateful for their assistance. Their involvement in the battle meant he had to sacrifice less of his own ships.

"Gonu, have the vanguard fire another volley," Ban ordered.

"With pleasu-"

"Sir, massive energy spike on the fleet's right flank!" A sensor operator shouted, interrupting Gonu.

Before Ban could question the operator, a massive fireball engulfed the majority of Toren's ships, the explosions emitting a silent glow in the void of space. Three frigates protecting Toren's flank succumbed to the blast, but their silent shockwaves merely caused nearby ships to momentarily lose formation.

"Report!" Ban demanded.

"Nine frigates and twenty seven corvettes have been destroyed," Me-Shume answered. "The rest of the fleet is reporting no superficial damage."

Inwardly, Ban cursed the mines. Based on the scans, the mines had been nuclear weapons, in unthinkable numbers. He didn't care to think about such a cavalier use of banned weapons, though one thing was clear: this race or races were not above breaking Council law themselves. His teeth showed themselves in a wolfish grin. _'A suitable race at last. They want to win as much as we do.'_

"Admiral, the enemy fleet is retaliating. Sensors are detecting massive numbers of projectiles being fired; configuration indicates them to be drones and missiles. Numerous enemy fighter squadrons are also approaching the fleet as well," Me-Shume reported.

"Activate GARDIAN defenses and deploy our own fighters," Ban ordered.

"Affirmative."

Within seconds, GARDIAN defense lasers sprang to life, ineffective in part as the enemy's retaliation was highly diverse. It was like trying to swat a swarm of flies with empty hands, the point defense lasers did little, but thin the pack as the ordnance closed in on their victims. Kinetic barriers flared and died in an instant, sending five cruisers into balls of flames. While they were a significant loss of both men and hardware, Ban hadn't really lost any tactical advantage when he had dozens more. He was more concerned with the state of his battle cruisers, which thankfully weren't too badly damaged.

"Have the vanguard prepare to fire another volley and order the frigates to lead their packs around the central point of fire. Make a hole and make it big." Ban ordered. The crew relayed his orders as the batarian fleet picked out targets.

* * *

 _ **SSV Nagasaki**_

 **Cruiser**

 **Command Deck**

As a massive naval engagement erupted between both fleets, a small taskforce hiding out in the asteroid field was lurking, waiting for the perfect time to strike. The taskforce had powered down all nonessential life-systems becoming mere shadows in the void, the asteroid field further disguising their heat signatures. The enemy was, by all appearances, ignorant of their ambush, believing the entirety of the defensive fleet to be positioned over the planet. The enemy was in for a rude awakening as a rising star in the Alliance navy was about to show his power.

"Wait a few more minutes," Hackett ordered. He gazed at the projection displaying the status of the battle. "Let them scatter a bit more, then we'll pounce."

"Aye, sir."

Inwardly, Hackett was sweating. Commanding twenty four ships within an asteroid field wasn't an easy task, but it was even harder when the majority of the taskforce had to rely on fighters and continuous volleys from the allied fleet before even starting to move.

His screen paused, focused on the space between the two juggernauts where human fighters were engaging their enemy counterparts. The invaders were apparently unable to react effectively, making Hackett wonder about their training. The large vessel attacks were highly coordinated, fluidly pouring incredible amounts of damage around allied vessels, while the enemy fighters seemed to be mostly defensive in nature. Hackett smiled viciously. A purely defensive doctrine would call for a fighter screen to stick close to their home ships, allowing Alliance craft a much fatter target.

Like a hive of furious wasps, the human pilots smashed into their foes, obliterating most of the enemy fighter screen as they lacked both the Slamhound's armor and the Hailstorm's speed. Evidently, they were not accustomed to fighters assuming an offensive role; the aliens seemed trapped by their inability to adapt. Hackett's smile grew. At first, the alien fleet didn't realize the peril it was in, exactly how he liked them: ignorant and overconfident.

"First combined taskforce, this is Commander Hackett speaking; go to full power and deploy all secondary craft. Corvettes and frigates target the enemy's packs, all destroyers hit the enemy's vanguard; cruisers coordinate fire to take pressure off of the main fleet." He ordered. The hastily formed strategy Wang had created was crude to his eye, but admirable for its simplicity. Basically, Occam's razor at its finest. Mentally, he filed a reminder to review additional potential formations later when he had the chance.

With the majority of the enemy's fighter screen distracted, the first combined taskforce deployed their own wave of bombers and fighters still hiding within the asteroid field, emerging from the shrouds of darkness like a primordial beast. Likewise, the _Nagasaki_ , alongside the other ships, began powering up, energy coursing to its formidable weaponry. Alliance and Confederate ships moved in unison, their weaponry trained upon the enemy fleet. The sight of a taskforce emerging from their right flank seemed to shock the aliens into action, several of their ships reorienting themselves to meet the new menace. Unfortunately, the invaders were unprepared for the massive beast that was unleashed. The void of space was suddenly filled with a horde of human bombers, over a thousand in number. Escorted by about one hundred and eighty Tridents and Stingers, the human bombers were confident they would reach their targets safely. In desperation, the enemy launched their own interceptors while the majority of their fighters were still contending with the Alliance's Hailstorms and Slamhounds.

Through the holo-table in his CIC, Hackett watched as his entire taskforce unleashed their full firepower upon the alien fleet. At two thousand kilometers from the nearest enemy vessel, the taskforce began their onslaught. Wave upon wave of Kinetic rods, Disruptor torpedoes, and Seeker rockets preceded a barrage of Mass Accelerator and Ultraviolet laser fire. With the small distance between them, the enemy's vanguard could offer no response other than to steel themselves for the impending hits. The closest enemy ships suffered the greatest damage, kinetic rods and Disruptor torpedoes pulverizing out their barriers, hulls, and engines before being erased from the battle by mass accelerator slugs and lasers. The rain of fire was undisturbed as it continued to move on towards its next targets. One by one, the alien armada began losing ships as their signatures blinked away from the _Nagasaki's_ sensors.

However, more and more enemy ships quickly began realigning their positions to respond to the new threat. The enemy's heavier vessels were still in worthy condition, these tended to be heavy cruisers and battle cruisers with the enemy's three dreadnoughts alongside their rear escorts. Quickly learning their lesson at a great cost, the enemy's heavy hitters closest to the taskforce threw all their available power into their engines. Rapidly closing the distance as fast as possible, the heavy cruisers lost some cohesion, but that didn't matter as the magnitude of their firepower compensated.

"Activate ECM jammers," Hackett ordered.

"Yes, sir," Martinez replied, keying the proper commands.

Hackett watched in silence as a sudden and large ECM screen enveloped his entire taskforce, emitting a heavy disruption field. The massive interference gave the commander's forces some limited protection as the enemy's fire was redirected away from his ships. Hackett momentarily smiled, picturing the aliens' facial expressions as they suddenly found their targeting solutions to be horribly miscalculated.

So far, the tide of the battle was in the Alliance's favor as the enemy suffered the worst damage. Gaining the advantage during the early phase of the battle, Hackett's ships were able to take on and contend with a far greater number of their enemy counterparts. However as the enemy drew nearer, the field's effectiveness dwindled while the enemy's fire became increasingly accurate. Hackett grimaced, watching the advantage switch towards the enemy's favor as they regrouped and responded with concentrated fire. The next phase of the engagement would require the full weight of his taskforce's firepower for him to triumph. Even then, large causalities were guaranteed. Fortunately, the allied fleet's ace in the hole was put into play.

As the alien fleet was solely focused on Hackett's taskforce, they had completely ignored the Alliance's fighters decimating their own, believing them a moderate threat at best. With the majority of the enemy's first wave of fighters all but neutered, Alliance bombers struck.

The Enforcer's Martels were the first to reach their targets, all ninety deploying their ordnance on the enemy corvette packs, ignoring the heavier vessels. Tens of thousands of Cadogan and Inferno missiles were launched, causing a significant illumination in the darkness of space. The scene was hectic as the vessels tried desperately to evade. The first line of the enemy's flank defense simply ceased to exist as the massive ordnance overwhelmed their defenses. A few wings of Martels were shot down by laser point defense, but the vast majority suffered no damage.

The disarray in the alien fleet allowed Hackett's taskforce to nearly overwhelm the opposition, easily crippling and destroying a good number of cruisers. Alliance corvettes closed their distance with the alien vessels, firing their Ultraviolet cannons to greater effect, outright destroying enemy corvettes and even larger frigates. Their IES, Internal Emission Sinks, allowing the corvettes to remain invisible to enemy sensors. It was one advantage Alliance corvettes used to their fullest, dancing around enemy electronic systems. Four Confederate frigates supplemented the corvettes with their superior shielding, providing them with much needed protection.

In response the alien armada began shifting additional fire upon Hackett's taskforce, realigning two dozen cruisers from its screen to flank the more dangerous threat. A deep frown caressed his face, his mind racing for any counters. As more and more of the enemy's right flank become preoccupied with him, Wang's fleet began firing everything it had, attempting to offer a much needed distraction. Mass Accelerator slugs soared across the void like wildfire as both sides traded fire.

 _'God bless them, but I don't think it will be enough.'_ Hackett avoid saying his personal thoughts aloud. Now was certainly not the time for doubt.

"Commander, two heavy cruisers nearly within weapons range!" Martinez exclaimed.

"Fire the main cannon!" Hackett shouted, devoid of any fear, lost in the beautiful chaos that seemed to engulf the entire system.

"Main gun firing!" Echoed Lieutenant Rossi. The console blinked, coordinating for the imminent recoil.

The vessel shook for a moment, but only as a light vibration underfoot. Even in the soundless vacuums of space, the human eye had to admire the magnificent chaos ensuing everywhere. The commander had seen the action performed so many times in exercises that he found himself imagining perfectly the blue blaze of the projectile, travelling from his ship towards the enemy's. It was pure devastation, sent across vast distances in the blink of the eye.

An instant after firing the main cannon, a series of small suns lit the monitors; the explosions were bright enough to be seen with the naked eye from Shanxi's night-side surface. The taskforce's destroyers had fired their high-yield therombaric missiles, sending them in an equidistant series to detonate in the center of the enemy's right flank. The result wreaked havoc within the enemy fleet, destroying several ships and causing more to be incapacitated. Unfortunately, the enemy's version of the GARDIAN laser system had prematurely detonated several, reducing the potential damage. However, Hackett knew the destroyers still had two warheads left, with their nuclear missiles yet to be fired. The Confederate frigates hadn't fired the sole nuclear missile each carried, Hackett having ordered them to save them for a tactical retreat, if necessary. Unlike Alliance frigates, the Confederate counterparts' single nuclear missile was both slower and less powerful than the Alliance's version.

The taskforce's frigates had fallen back to take defensive positions around the Alliance corvettes, which were now taking much heavier fire. Hackett cringed. He'd ordered his destroyers to fire their thermobaric missiles in order to intimidate the aliens, wanting them to hesitate closing the range further. The invaders seemed undeterred from the deployment of such weapons, firing off their own ordnance in response. However, there was a silver lining; the Confederate frigates were intercepting the majority of the enemy's torpedoes quite handily, and were also serving as a good line of fire for the taskforce's cruisers.

"SSV Nagasaki, RCS Essential _here, we're taking heavy damage!_ Amber Dawn _and_ Spirit of Fortune _have been destroyed!"_ The sound of Raloi speech echoed through the comm channels. Thanks to Williams' and Wang's request for translation links, Alliance and Confederate ships were each able to communicate with each other much more fluently.

"Copy _Essential_. Pull back with the corvettes and regroup with the main fleet," Hackett ordered. "The rest of us will cover your retreat."

" _Roger,_ Nagasaki _frigates and corvettes falling back!"_

The ship suddenly lurched to its side as it barely dodged a mass accelerator slug on its right hull, Hackett stumbling to maintain his balance.

"Sorry Rossi, you'll have to wait on your shot." The helmsman threw an apology to the weapons board, which were obviously very anxious to unload another volley on the invaders. Gently feathering the throttle to all the crew a smoother acceleration, the pilot shifted towards the center of the U-shaped formation, with the asteroids offering viable cover.

"Roger that. You set up the alignment, I'll take care of the rest." The lieutenant answered saucily.

Hackett turned to Martinez, in his usual position near the galactic map. "General report!" He ordered.

"The reactors are holding, no energy spike. Kinetic barriers are currently at sixty percent. I really hope those asteroids intercept some rounds," Martinez said wishfully. He'd been observing the fleet overview, gauging the tide of the battle. Allied ships had yet to suffer serious damage; the majority of the losses being limited to fighters, a few squadron of bombers, multiple frigates, and a few cruisers. Perhaps the distance was a factor, Alliance ships seemed to have better long-range firepower compared to their opponents.

' _Thank God we're fighting against inept enemies,'_ Hackett thought, taking his position on the galactic map. After Rostov's maneuvers, the ship seemed to have stabilized, with the bow facing a concentration of frigates and cruisers. The enemy's right flank had all but been annihilated, forcing them to rearrange their ships. Their corvettes and frigates on the left flank however, had managed to circle around and were now engaging Alliance and Confederate frigates.

"Target in sight. Fire when ready!" Rostov exclaimed.

"You guys heard? It's time to improve our battle record!" Rossi shouted, full of enthusiasm.

"Roger that, lieutenant," Hackett responded, sharing the same level of enthusiasm. He noticed his crew had gone back to tinkering with holographic panels more quickly than before. "Rossi, give me an ID on the targets." The commander ordered.

"Target acquired at sixty-three kilometers ahead, sir. It appears to be a heavy cruiser, still turned on its port side, undamaged. A perfect prey!"

"Excellent." Hackett squinted at the unsuspecting heavy cruiser; it was ordinarily out of his own ship's weight class, but leaving itself open like a fool was in charge. "Target their weapons and engines first. Launch a combined volley of kinetic rods and seeker rockets to overwhelm their defenses. Then fire a barrage of harpoon missiles, followed by the main cannon to finish the job."

"Yes sir."

The vessel trembled for a moment under the force of the ejecting weaponry, the faster 'dumb' rockets rapidly heading towards the hapless enemy cruiser first. The rods and rockets slammed against the ship's port side, making its kinetic barriers flash before disappearing. A second later three explosions swept the side, followed shortly by two shots from the _Nagasaki's_ mass accelerator. Despite the overwhelming number of blows, the enemy ship was not going to give in easily. With the hull deprived of vital armor and the starboard side completely torn apart, the ship began reorienting itself with its main cannon facing the _Nagasaki_ bowfirst. A yellow discharge appeared from the enemy ship, a round exiting its main cannon.

"Brace yourselves!" Hackett shouted.

The bridge began to tremble more strongly than when they opened fire. Some panels sparked, but others suffered no serious damage, at least on the bridge.

"Damage report," He churched, facing Martinez

"Barriers at thirty-three percent, but are re-energizing. Power is being diverted for faster recharge. We're experiencing a small amount of capacitor overheating, but nothing major. Hull damage is minimal."

Hackett made a nod to the officer. "Good. Rossi, another volley. Rostov, begin evasive maneuvers as soon as we take out that ship."

"Aye," Both officers answered in unison, wasting no time. The cruiser's onslaught became even more violent under their enthusiasm, increasing the number of rounds punching into the alien vessel's side. Before the enemy ship could fire in response, a Confederate cruiser fired its own cannon, blasting a hole through the enemy ship from one side to the other. A gaping chasm was left on the heavy cruiser's hull, leaving a brief blaze before being extinguished by the absence of oxygen. The enemy vessel shuddered before a bright blue flash immolated what was left, breaking it in two and leaving a drifting husk.

The _Nagasaki's_ bridge crew exploded in cheers, while the helmsman took evasive maneuvers, avoiding a return volley while angling towards a new target. Through the external cameras, Hackett could see that the small team of ships had dispersed, but were held at a safe distance from the enemy formation. The cruiser's close-quarters advantage would not be of much use, since the enemy had yet to break formation to try to get closer. Their commander had to be either very stupid or very clever: stupid for trying to hit something from such a distance or clever because ships in formation could also easily concentrate their firepower.

The _Nagasaki's_ crew's spirit was crushed when a friendly ship on their port bow was suddenly engulfed in flames. The ship shook as the explosion sent shock-waves rippling in every direction.

"Commander, one of ours has been hit!" Martinez reported. "The _Invincible_ just exploded!"

"Damn! We haven't even dropped a quarter of the enemy ships and we already suffering losses!" Rostov complained.

"Sit-rep!" Hackett demanded.

"We took down some of theirs, but we're taking too much fire, they're changing focus to us," Martinez explained. "Wait a moment ... sir an incoming message from the _SSV Hawking_!"

"Let's hear it."

 _"All ships, this is Captain Wang. We are starting to suffer major losses. Our ships are badly damaged, running out of ordnance, and a good number of our vessels are running hot. I know this goes against everything you men believe in, however we simply cannot hold off the enemy fleet for much longer. All ships concentrate fire for another two minutes_ _on vectors two-seven-three and five-oh-one,_ _and then fall back. FTL to the following coordinates once you're cleared. See you at the rally point. Wang, out."_

"What the fu-" Martinez couldn't finish, interrupted as the bridge was rocked by an explosion so strong Hackett had to drop to his knees in order to keep his balance.

"What was that!?" Hackett shouted.

"Taking heavy damage!" The navigator cried. "Serious hull damage, kinetic barriers are completely down!" the bridge shuddered again, not from a shot but from explosions within the ship. "Minor detonations detected in decks seven and eight; we still have seventy percent of the outer hull left."

"Rostov! Get us out of here!" Hackett ordered, though it sounded more of a shout.

"Yes, sir!" The ship started to turn, pouring on more and more power to get away from the chaos.

"This is Commander Hackett; all ships in the immediate vicinity are ordered to scatter and fall back! Cruisers and destroyers, target the nearest enemy with nukes and missiles. Frigates, repeat the same order, but deploy ECM jammers and decoy probes." He staggered to one side after a secondary explosion rumbled under his feet.

' _What the hell just fired?_ _Nothing can drop a cruiser's barriers in one shot. Dreadnought? Can't be. If it were, the ship would have been destroyed and how could it get a clear shot this far?'_ Hackett thought. He forced himself to slow down, probabilities running through his mind.

"Who or what the hell just fired on us?" Martinez asked.

"Unknown, but ballistics are saying the shot came from inside the enemy formation, not by its flanks. Must be a heavy ship." Rostov explained.

"It's a battle cruiser! Shit its aiming straight at us!" Rossi shouted.

"Where is it?" Hackett cursed, this could be a big problem.

"Its leading a formation on our port bow. Damn its firing again, taking evasive maneuvers!" The helmsmen shouted. His hands moved with frantic speed, coaxing another maneuver to once again save the ship from destruction.

A huge vessel, designed much like an enemy cruiser, at least a kilometer long emerged between the steaming carcasses of three enemy ships and opened fire with its heavy guns. The _Nagasaki_ suffered no damage as a result of the helmsman's maneuvering and the local asteroids providing cover. If the shot had landed, no one would have been alive to notice. Yellow contrails traveled to the center of the taskforce, crashing into a destroyer a few thousand kilometers from the cruiser, destroying it completely. All nonessential power was directed to the _Nagasaki's_ barriers as it readied itself for round two. With a clear shot, the cruiser responded with a salvo directed towards the battle cruiser, which was already being hit by another Alliance ship.

Suddenly, from the center of the enemy formation emerged several ships much larger than the usual, facing the bulk of the taskforce. Hackett was unaware of the current condition of the main fleet; however he had little time to worry about them. The huge ships opened fire, damaging or destroying several retreating vessels in one barrage, both human and raloi. The _Nagasaki_ seemed to have lady luck on her side, surviving and evading numerous shots.

 _"All ships, withdraw immediately! We can't compete with those heavy ships! The orbital satellites will cover our retreat! If any ship has any nukes or missiles left, now will be a good time to use them!"_ Captain Wang cried from the speakers.

" _This is Captain Markby of the_ SSV Bristol _. All remaining cruisers and destroyers mount a small rearguard and pull back to the Relay ASAP! All remaining frigates: protect the carrier and battle cruisers at all costs!"_

"You hear that Rostov? Relay, top speed!" Hackett ordered; glad to get out of this hell.

"Unable sir! The last shot must have damaged the core or the controls!" The helmsman responded, worry etched in his face.

The commander's face turned completely white. "What do you mean? Are you saying we can't jump?"

"FTL is out, but …" Martinez tried to continue, only to be cut by the commander.

" _SSV Bristol_ , this is the _Nagasaki_ , we can't FLT jump! We have suffered damage to the core!"

" _Acknowledged_ Nagasaki _, try to get out of there with conventional engines. Dain, you and your group cover Hackett's taskforce!"_

" _Affirmative sir, just be aware orbital satellites are about to fire so watch your lane! Our main cannon is fried so we won't be able to cover you for long."_

" _Acknowledged,_ Tampa _._ Nagasaki _you heard the commander, I suggest you move it!"_ Markby shouted.

"Agreed." Hackett responded.

The remnants of Hackett's taskforce began to pick up speed, while nearby raloi ships accelerated so quickly that they appeared to vanish into thin air. The human ships not connected to the taskforce simply blurred slightly, vanishing in a streak of light. They had to have been making an in-system jump.

The destroyers that were left to cover the _Nagasaki_ didn't last long as they were destroyed by heavy fire, leaving the _Nagasaki_ to content for itself. After firing several shots, the cruiser was hit by the enemy ships and suffered severe damage. Hits continued to further punished the cruiser. Just before as it appeared the _Nagasaki_ was about to bite the dust, hundreds of rockets and rods bombarded its assailants, sending a particle waves powerful enough to shake the _Nagasaki._

"Holy shit! Did you see that? Where did that come from?" Rossi asked.

"Doesn't matter. Right now we need to get the hell out of here. Directing ship to the nearest possible cover," Rostov replied.

"Are we being chased?" Hackett asked moments later. The few seconds of disruption allowed the _Nagasaki_ a decent lead, despite its damages.

"Checking ... affirmative. Two frigates, making a hard burn." Martinez reported.

"We can't fight them in this battered state, but maybe we can hide." Hackett grunted.

"Sir?" navigator questioned, incredulous to what the commander was suggesting.

"You heard me, Rostov. Take us in deeper into the asteroid field."

* * *

 _ **SSV Tampa**_

 **Cruiser**

 **Command Deck**

When the battle had begun, the Alliance and Confederate fleet numbered at just below a hundred, now it hovered around the low forties. Mass accelerator fire soared in both directions, slamming into vessels and rendering many into space-born coffins. However, the damage was not all one-sided. Dozens upon dozens of the smaller enemy ships were severely damaged, some outright destroyed by the combined allied firepower. Impressive though it was, firepower alone was simply not enough to win the day. Outnumbered 4 to 1, the allied fleet had little chance of winning. The best outcome they could hope for was to delay and cost as much damage to the enemy fleet as possible.

After the fighting had stretched on for a good half an hour, Dain could see the cracks starting to form in the allied fleet. Preliminary reports had shown that the Alliance's ships were extremely efficient at killing the enemy ships, but their numbers seemed to be infinite. After Hackett's trap had been sprung, the enemy fleet had become momentarily incapacitated, giving the allied fleet an opportunity to gut the enemy's numbers. Alliance bombers alone managed to down over seven corvettes, thirteen frigates, four cruisers, and even a battle cruiser. With the bombers heavily engaged, the human pilots tasked with protecting them had destroyed over five times their number in enemy fighters. Thankfully, raloi pilots had taken the bulk of the fighter defense, granting their human counterparts the time to deal a savage blow. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the enemy had begun to regroup, their frigates and corvettes on their left flank using their superior numbers to surround the allied fleet, limiting their movement. The exposure to enemy heavy and battle cruisers was devastating to the allies.

So it was to no surprise to Dain when Captain Wang ordered the fleet to begin making preparations to retreat. As the _SSV Tampa_ continued to fight against hopeless odds, the guardians around it began to join their dead kindred. The _Tampa_ shuddered from both firing and taking volleys as the enemy fleet pressed their advantage, advancing further towards the colony.

"Commander! Kinetic barriers are at seventy two percent! Mass accelerator and kinetic pods are reloading!" Lindholm exclaimed. Being a senior chief petty officer meant she had to keep her subordinates calm while at the same time reporting critical information to the commanding officer. All in all, it wasn't an easy job.

As an enemy battle cruiser continued to lead a pack of cruisers straight towards them, the crew could only hope that a miracle would happen. Although armed with a plethora variety of missiles and rockets, the cruiser didn't possess any true weapon dedicated to taking out similar-sized enemies in clusters. The _Tampa_ lacked the nuclear payload of a destroyer and the improved armor of a battle cruiser, which meant taking on multiple targets alone was suicide at best. Already the cruiser had deployed the majority of its ordnance, leaving it practically defenseless.

Commander Dain closed his eyes tight, trying to come up with a solution to the problem at hand. _'Flee? The enemy will just shoot us in the back. Ram into them? We'd be destroyed before we could even get close. Only one choice.'_ Unfortunately, the only choice left was as dangerous as it was stupid.

"Selene, divert all power from communications, engines, navigation, and ventilation to the mass accelerator. Do not fire immediately, but let the cannon overcharge. Give me a targeting solution on that battle cruiser. Lindholm, once Selene gives you the data, fire as many rounds as you possibly can. Singh, the moment the main cannon fires, deploy half of our remaining seeker rockets, followed by three pods of kinetic rods. I want all our broadside guns and defense turrets to open fire upon the closest vessels." Even as Dain issued the orders, he could see the crew hesitating, possibly thinking he had completely gone mad. Diverting non-critical systems to weapons was all too common in war, but communications and ventilation as well? Not to mention the risk of the main canon overheating or the entire ship overloading from managing that many weapon systems at the same time.

"Sir, are you sure-"

"If we continue to do the same thing we've been doing, we're all going to die. The enemy isn't expecting us to do something this crazy and if we go out, I'd prefer it'd be with a bang," Dain said, answering the unfinished question.

His words were enough to get the crew moving. The entire bridge became a hornets' nest of activity as reports and warnings began to be continuously called out. As the _Tampa_ prepared for the suicidal attack, the enemy flotilla began readying its weapons.

"Sir! Enemy is moving to surround us!" Lindholm informed the commander. "Two cruisers are maneuvering on either side and the battle cruiser appears to be coming straight at us!"

"Report on the cannon!?" Dain called out.

"It's at … MY GOD! Cannon is approaching nearly two hundred percent, core is approaching critical levels!" Lindholm answered, hoping the commander knew what he was doing.

"Selene, what's the range of the enemy battle cruiser?"

"It's just within weapons range, sir. Probability of a direct hit is 34%."

In that moment, Dain noticed the sensors, showing the enemy battle cruiser, as well as its escorts, charging weapons. In a moment, clarity showed itself. If the battle cruiser's massive gun didn't finish the _Tampa_ off in one shot, then the four cruisers would. With no time to move in the debris field and with all other ships heavily engaged, he took the gamble.

"FIRE EVERYTHING!" He ordered. All around him the ship shuddered and shook violently, almost to the point that Dain believed it might split in half as its weapons fired in every direction.

The ship recoiled like a wild animal, the super-charged round screaming out of its barrel. The blast was unlike anything the enemy ship could have seen, reducing its time to evade to bare seconds. The time given was not enough for the battle cruiser, the round tearing through the ship's bow, completely ignoring its kinetic barriers. Surprisingly, the battle cruiser did not explode, but became unresponsive as layers of armor were destroyed.

The pack of cruisers surrounding the _Tampa_ fared much worse. Once the _Tampa_ had fired the super-charged round, its secondary weapons came online. Its broadside, point defense turrets, rods, missiles, rockets, and even GARDIAN laser system discharged at every available target. The broadside guns and point defense turrets, firing in unison, were able to punch a big enough hole in a cruiser's kinetic barrier on its starboard side big enough for a large volley of kinetic rods and seeker rockets to pass through and detonate, reducing the ship to a blazing wreckage.

The remaining rods slammed into the other cruiser, this time arrowing into the main cannon, outright damaging it by causing a minor dent. Lacking armor on its main gun found commonly on Alliance ships, the enemy vessel underwent self-destruction as it fired its main cannon. The round, not finding a straight barrel to exit from, blocked up the entire passageway like a dam, causing the blocked energy to destroy the cruiser from the inside, irony at its finest. The two remaining cruisers, apparently shocked by what they have seen, began to retreat. The _Tampa's_ GARDIAN system, firing in one high-powered concentrated beam, managed to score a critical hit along the hull of one. Twenty VI guided harpoon missiles from the _Tampa_ easily gutted the ship. The last cruiser was able to move out of weapons range, for which Dain was relieved. The impressive barrage had caused the ship to nearly overload, meaning the _Tampa_ had gotten lucky, _very_ lucky.

"Selene, report." Dain said, sighing in relief.

"Majority of the ship has suffered extensive damages. The main cannon's armor as well as the barrel have experienced partial-meltdown from that last shot. Cores are dropping from critical levels and GARDIAN lasers are returning to normal levels. Overall condition of ship is yellow, with minor to severe damages."

Dain could hardly believe his luck. Sadly, it was short-lived.

"Sir, enemy battle cruiser is coming back online!" Lindholm shouted, nearly demoralizing the entire crew.

"What!?"

"Senior Petty Officer Lindholm is correct, sir. Enemy ship is becoming responsive once again, however it appears that we caused it significant damage. Kinetic barriers are at above maximum strength and the ship's engines are starting to come online."

"Meaning?"

"That the enemy ship's weapons are either knocked off online or have suffered extensive damages much like our own. I would suggest finishing it off," Selene suggested, sounding unusually vicious for a synthetic life form.

Dain agreed with his AI. "You heard the lady, time to add another kill. Fire a salvo of seeker rockets followed by another kinetic pod."

The ship, barely having reached manageable heat levels, began to red-line once more by firing another combined volley of missiles and rockets. The combination proved deadly as the rockets hampered on the battle cruiser's kinetic barriers, momentarily dropping them. The kinetic rods sailed through the opening, tearing through the ships armor and finishing it off.

"HELL YEA!" an ensign shouted, the bridge more relieved than cheerful. However, not all the ships were experiencing the same good fortune.

 _"All ships, withdraw immediately! We can't compete with those heavy ships! The orbital satellites will cover our retreat! If any ship has any nukes or missiles left, now will be a good time to use them!"_ Captain Wang cried from the speakers.

A second voice boomed through the comm system, older sounding but no less commanding. _"This is Captain Markby of the_ SSV Bristol _. All remaining cruisers and destroyers mount a small rearguard and pull back to the relay ASAP! All remaining frigates: protect the carrier and battle cruisers at all costs!"_

"What!? We just kicked their asses!" Singh complained.

"We don't have a choice ensign, we have our orders. Helmsman, take us to the rest of the fleet. Selene, divert all power from the main gun to barriers and engines." Dain ordered.

The _Tampa_ soon began moving, emerging out of the floating graveyard surrounding it. The ship's engines flared as it tried to regroup with the rest of the fleet. Rounds and ordnance continued to detonate in space as the allied fleet began to retreat. A few Raloi frigates, seeing Dain's ship vulnerability, moved into position to cover its retreat.

"Shit, shit this is bad!" Singh complained. "Kinetic barriers are barely holding!" Just as he finished, the ship shook once again as a round from a corvette slammed against its hull. Said corvette wisely retreated after seeing the raloi frigates nearing weapons range.

"Commander, incoming transmission." The AI said.

"Patch it through!"

 _"_ SSV Bristol _, this is the_ Nagasaki _, we can't FLT jump! We have suffered damage to the core!"_

"That's Commander Hackett's ship!" Singh exclaimed.

Dain remain impassive, mentally cursing the situation. The situation had just gone FUBAR. The allied fleet was retreating; the _Tampa's_ main cannon had suffered significant damages, and the enemy fleet was continuing to mercilessly obliterate allied ships.

Another transmission from Captain Markby came through the ship's speakers. _"Acknowledged_ Nagasaki _, try to get out of there with conventional engines. Dain, you and your group cover Hackett's taskforce!"_

Immediately, all blood drained from Dain's face. In their current condition, they were in no position to cover themselves, let alone anyone else. He looked at his crew's faces, all of them showing fear. He could understand their feelings, but at the same time they had a job to do.

"Okay people, we're extremely vulnerable, but the fleet still needs our help. If any of you wish to fall back, feel free to take an escape pod. I will not hold it against you for all of you have served valiantly and honorably today," He said, letting his crew who had put themselves on the line continuously today decide what course of action to take.

When no one stood and spoke up, Dain allowed a smirk to appear on his face. "Commanding this cruiser is the best thing that ever happened to me. That being said we're heading into a hot zone. I want everyone sharp and ready for anything. Bastards have wiped out the majority of our ships, so let's return the favor."

Before anything could be done, Dain got on the ship's comm. set. "Affirmative sir, just be aware orbital satellites are about be fired so watch your lane! Our main cannon is fried so we won't be able to cover your retreat for long."

" _Acknowledged,_ Tampa _._ Nagasaki, _you heard the commander, I suggest you move it!"_

" _Agreed."_

"Now let's get to work people. Selene, I want targeting solutions on anything that moves near us. Lindholm, without the cannon you'll have to make do with rockets and kinetic rods. Singh take over whatever remaining bombers we have left. Make sure they return to the ship as soon as they deploy their payload! We don't exactly have time on our side." Dain issued orders, prepping his crew for another fearsome battle. "Selene, what is the status on Hackett's ship?"

"It appears, the _SSV Nagasaki_ is thirty kilometers ahead of our position, near the asteroid field. Several ships nearby are beginning to make in-system jumps a-"

"Sir, the _Nagasaki_ is getting hit hard by enemy frigates! It won't last another shot!" Lindholm shouted.

"FIRE ALL ROCKETS!" Dain shouted. An instant later the ship's signature seemed to double as it fired its last volley of seeker rockets in a spectacular display of defiance. The barrage soared across the void undetected, slamming into the unaware frigates. The area became engulfed in a bright light as a massive explosion enveloped the enemy ships.

"Status?" Dain was hoping he hadn't just destroyed Hackett's ship.

"The _Nagasaki_ is stabled, but has suffered severe damages. It appears to be heading deeper into the asteroid field; but it is being chased by two remaining frigates." Selene reported.

"Sir, bombers are nearly ready for deployment." Singh said, reminding Dain of his earlier orders.

"Belay last order. Selene, have the raloi frigates and the ship perform an in-system jump, but set them on the starboard side of the enemy ships."

"As you wish."

"WHAT!? SIR, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!" Singh shouted, sub-consciously offending the commander in the process.

"No ensign," Dain glared at his subordinate. "At this very moment Commander Hackett needs our help and we will provide it." He made no objection concerning his sub-ordinate's outburst. Inwardly, Dain was wondering the same thing. After everything they've survived, he was pressing his luck.

"Sir, ship is ready for in-jump system. Be aware I've notified three remaining corvettes of our _situation_." Selene said, stressing the last word.

"Do it!"

Within the blink of an eye the ship was accelerated to FTL. In less than a second the ship appeared on the starboard side of the enemy frigates pursing the limping _Nagasaki._ Dain wasn't exactly sure who was more surprised, the enemy or Commander Hackett. Nevertheless, Dain wasted no time.

"Deploy all bombers! Selene, order the raloi frigates to fire!"

Before the enemy frigates could react, four raloi frigates fired their mass accelerators. Two rounds slammed into each frigate, the firepower draining their kinetic barriers. The Alliance bombers commenced their run, pouring explosives over the enemy vessels before quickly returning to the _Tampa._ To add to the damage, the raloi ships fired over a dozen disruptor torpedoes. It was plain overkill as the enemy vessels crumbled under the attack. Dain breathed an inward sigh of relief, weak in the knees at another successful gamble.

"Selene, any more ships approaching the field?" The commander was hopeful the AI would deliver a positive report.

"Negative, sir. Allied corvettes were jamming all communication transmissions within the area. The enemy believes us to be dead," The AI reported. Soon three Alliance corvettes appeared on the other side of the _Nagasaki_ , ever vigilant for enemy ships.

Before Dain could say anything, Singh asked a very good question. "Sir, how did our corvettes jam the enemy ships' communications?"

"Good question, ensign. Selene?"

"Before the naval engagement, Steven began coordinating the rest of the Alliance's AIs to hack the enemy ships. To avoid detection, we masked our movements through their systems, slowing our efforts. It wasn't until just a few minutes ago that we were able to hack into their systems. While largely diverse, the enemy seemed to possess rather strong cyber warfare suits. Before I continue, I believe you should take a look at this," The AI declared, having a rather large packet file appear on Dain's omni-tool. "While in their systems, I was able to pull this chunk of data from their archives. Unfortunately, with our communication systems badly damaged I was, and still am, unable to send the data to anyone else."

Before he could take a look at the data, Dain asked another question. "What is the status on the fleet?"

"Gone. Captain Wang managed to escape, along with twenty-one ships. The planetary defense has already begun firing on the enemy fleet. We have lost this battle."

Dain reclined in his chair, both from grief and relief. Having survived another miraculous engagement, he couldn't believe that merely thirty-one ships out of ninety-four managed to survive. Countless had died, yet he and his crew had survived. Admittedly, they weren't in the best of conditions, but it was certainly better than death.

Sighing, Dain issued his final orders. "Comms., order all ships to power down non-essential systems and open a line to Commander Hackett."

"Commander, I've been trying to do that, however it appears the _Nagasaki's_ communication system is offline," Lindholm reported.

"Oh, that's just perfect." Singh complained.

"This just keeps getting better," Dain sarcastically said. "Selene, have any ideas?"

The AI brought up a diagram of a nearby derelict vessel. "Sir, with the enemy ships destroyed it is possible that we can repair both the _Nagasaki_ and the _Tampa_ while investigating the inhabitants."

"Do it," Dain said, clearly tiring of the situation. "Begin docking procedures with the _Nagasaki_." With nothing else to be done, he exited the bridge, deciding whatever information Selene had sent to him had to be worthwhile at the very least. But, considering the day's events, he figured he had earned a brief rest.

* * *

 _ **HSS Superiority**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

"HAHA, look at them squirm!" Gonu shouted, cheerful over the batarian fleet's success. As the enemy fleet retreated, their batarian counterpart advanced upon the colony.

The remaining three hundred and seventeen batarian ships were soon left unopposed in the system. Admiral Ban stared at the list of casualties he had suffered, eighty-five ships to the enemy's sixty-three. Their foe had proven to hold a deep comprehension of naval warfare and displayed military intelligence on-par with the turians. That was disturbing, especially when one considered the disproportionate loss of heavy frigates to the seemingly advanced corvettes. Ban growled mentally, he had underestimated his foe and had suffered for it. He'd acted on Toren's information, expecting an enemy battle-group, not a fleet nearly twice the size. The admiral silently clenched a fist, wishing he could strangle the incompetent buffoon. He took small comfort in knowing the idiot deservingly lost two thirds of his slaver fleet.

"Admiral, what are those things?" Lieutenant Ib-ba asked. He seemed enamored by the screen, just above his comfortable control chair, watching the holo-screen before his eyes.

The lieutenant's voice brought the admiral out from his thoughts. "They look like communications satellites," Ban said, quickly evaluating and discarding the many satellites in orbit around the planet. Those were the last things that interested him, although the lack of shipyards was beginning to trouble him. His real targets were the millions of slaves whom he would capture on that planet; as well as the pacification of the entire race. With their prowess under the control of the Hegemony, the ingenious race could possibly assist in bringing the Volus Protectorate and Hanar Primacy to their knees. After those two fell, the Hegemony would have production capabilities in excess of the turians and salarians combined, and the asari would never think of threatening sanctions against such a mighty power.

Ban opened a channel through his omni-tool with Colonel Garak, chief of the shock troops in the Suppression Fleet. The colonel appeared in all his glory, if someone could call it that. The man was a legend of the frequent mercenary conflicts in the Terminus Systems, and well known for his suppression of slave revolts. He was among the best officers in the Hegemony forces. While he did not share the ruthless methods of the caste currently in command, he was good enough that his actions and his loyalty to the government spoke for themselves.

 _"Admiral. To what do I owe this call?"_

"Colonel. We are in sight of the planet. Are your men ready?"

 _"We were ready before we left,"_ The soldier replied dryly. Ban understood that the officer didn't like him, but like any soldier the colonel was accustomed to serving under commanders who did share his same ideals.

"Good. Remember not to kill civilians. We need them, anything else on the planet is expendable." The admiral added, a stern expression on his face.

 _"Yes, sir."_

Ban close the channel and rose from his chair, deciding to monitor the actions of his men. They had to be at their peak performance levels, and leave the system in less than a week. Any more time than that and their absence would be noticed for sure. A stray thought came to Ban. He grimaced, hoping they would be gone before the Shadow Broker decided the fleet's absence was information worth selling. They had to be quick and deadly, just like General Karan three hundred years ago during the War of Spring. Ban walked over to navigation, and began to observe the panels behind the helmsman.

"ETA on the planet?" He asked imperatively.

"About five minutes sir ... look, screen five shows some strange readings."

Ban strolled to a better vantage point, noting that the monitor in question was focused on a satellite. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw that it had it had the shape of a closed Citadel, but with a hole where the wards were to join and a yellow star on the side. It had two arrays on either side, with twelve needle-like projectiles lined around the hole. He saw another, much similar to the first, but instead of needles, it had a large blue optic in the center. Finally, there was an umbrella-shaped satellite with dozens of large tubes around it. What was disconcerting was how the rest of the varied satellites were beginning to turn, continuously rotating as they began facing his fleet.

' _What's going on?'_ The admiral thought.

Suddenly, all twelve needles left the satellite on screen directed towards a frigate that had been closing in to conduct a more accurate scan. The ship was perforated completely, the needles ignoring both barriers and the vessel's armor as if it were nothing. A horror realization stitched itself on Ban's face; those needles were the same type of missiles the enemy fleet had used against him, which meant that the rest of the satellites were …

Immediately, the rest of the orbital weapons opened fire, deploying varied ordinance with inhuman precision. Soon strange warheads carrying nuclear payloads, lasers, and missiles were firing on the approaching batarian fleet. Hundreds of missiles slammed into a pack of battle cruisers, crippling them heavily. Their accompanying cruisers were obliterated by a blue ray; the barriers doing nothing to stop the beam. The bulkiest systems deployed their weaponry, each dispersing six warheads. To Ban's unspoken horror, any ships nearby were soon disintegrated as the warheads exploded. The nuclear fire was well in excess of Council restrictions.

 _"Ambush!"_ Someone shouted on the channels.

Ban winced. He'd been outmaneuvered again. Then, it came to him: there were no construction facilities in orbit. Nothing that could build the ships he'd just defeated. _That_ meant, this was not the species' homeworld, but merely a colony … and if the fleet he'd just beaten was not the home defense fleet then… Toren would die an excruciating death if he had anything to say about it!

Ib-ba began to press buttons on the console, nodding, while Ban allowed himself a moment to observe the last act of resistance from a civilization doomed to serve the Hegemony. A smile came to his face, if the space battle had indicated anything, it was that the ground would be equally difficult … of which Lieutenant Toren was in charge.

"Fire." Ban ordered.

The batarian fleet responded with an impressive display of fire. Their mass accelerators easily tore through the satellites, their firepower dropping exponentially after the batarian ships destroyed each of them. A good number of ordnance managed to miss their targets, heading for the planet below. Bane didn't care as he had more important things to take care of.

"Report!" Bane shouted.

"Fleet has suffered some damages," Ib-ba reported. "Six frigates destroyed and another three damaged. Four corvettes have suffered equipment failure, but nothing serious. The most damage to the fleet is that a battle cruiser has been severely damaged while its cruiser pack has been obliterated."

Bane closed his fists, nearly ripping the armrests on his chair. "What is the fleet's combat effectiveness?"

"Three hundred and six ships are combat ready, seven if we can fix the hull damages done to the _HSS Terror_."

"Instruct Lieutenant Commander Toren to begin deploying the first-wave of ground troops. Have whatever remains of his forces serve as forward reconnaissance for the main ground army. Any remote settlements are to be obliterated; only major cities and heavily populated areas are to be targeted. Deploy probes down to the planet, I want any planetary cannons captured or destroyed before we begin sending any ships ground side."

"Aye, sir."

Ban settled back in his chair. _'No, I don't think I will warn the good Lieutenant Commander of what I've learned.'_ He looked at the list of missing vessels. _'He has cost me nearly twenty five percent of my fleet. Let's see how well his leadership proceeds.'_

* * *

 **Trivia:**

1\. The naval battle, or rather the strategies used, was partly inspired by the naval battles Midway and Leyte Gulf of WW2

2\. Captain's Wang declaration of the odds preventing any thought of survival was a quote inspired by the book 'Last Stand of the Tin Can Soldiers.'

3\. Here we get to see the differences in Dain and Hackett as well as their strategies. Dain creates a new solution if the ones given to him aren't satisfactory and will do anything to get his crew out of there alive. Hackett is more cautious, evaluating the scenario carefully before committing to an action while being cool under pressure. Together these two sailors make a lethal combination.

4\. A similar relationship is seen in Ban and Toren, opposite sides of the same coin. Even though both started pretty much the same, you can see how their personalities have led them down different paths. Ban is analytical, a brilliant tactician, and inspires loyalty through merit. On the other hand, Toren is reckless, overlooks facts that have huge implications, and rules over his men with fear. Also yeah, Ban is no idiot. He easily realizes Shanxi is just a colony.

5\. I tend to take crabby, unhelpful reviewers, or more accurately flamers who fail to provide any useful feedback and are vague in their complaints, and people I encounter in life, and integrate them as servants of my protagonist's foes. Keep in mind, all writers in this collaboration are open to all forms feedback and criticism regarding plot holes, canon contradictions, and issues in the story. Thankfully no reviewer has fallen into this category and we thank you for all your loyal support.

6\. Title easily explains the chapter.


	7. Chapter 7 - Guardians of Freedom

12-25-2156, 1134 hours (Alliance standard time)

 _ **SSV Tampa**_

 **Cruiser**

 **Private Quarters**

Dain rubbed his face with one hand, clearly tired and fatigued from the day's events. Sitting on his chair facing his desk, he read over the information packet Selene had sent to him. It was a treasure trove, detailing fleet numbers, systems the invaders held, their biological information, and an interesting foot note on a separate species. They were avain in nature, with facial markings resembling tattoos. A unique entry on the species indicated the species was dextro-acid based, certainly quite the opposite to humans. The codex referred to them as _turians_ , and while intriguing, the information was demoralizing. The data went into great detail, explaining how they were a superpower and how their fleets outnumbered and outgunned the aliens invading Shanxi, which were properly called batarians. From what Dain had gathered, the turians were most likely an ally of sorts to the batarians; otherwise why have information specifically tailored to an alien species on your ship?

At this point in his life, Dain had enough of extraterrestrial aliens and would give anything to return to the ignorant fool he had been just a few hours ago that believed intelligent aliens were a fantasy. With the information he held, he was quite possibly the most important human at the current moment. Obviously, this data had to reach Alliance command. However, due to his previous gambles, the ship's QEC was badly damaged. Hackett had suffered the same fate; his broadcast unit was all that remained while, ironically, Dain merely had a receiver.

Inwardly he cursed, if he was to get the data to Alliance command, he would have to work with his longtime rival. With both he and Hackett retaining the same rank, there was no clear line of authority, which meant both commanders would have to share command and responsibility over what remained of the allied fleet…provided no superior officer arrived soon. Sighing, he was a bit relieved of the situation. In his tired state, he was glad at least someone else could be there to prevent him from making a mistake.

Feeling a need for introspection, Dain turned to his window. The asteroids barely blocked his view of Shanxi; the sight made his heart shudder. _'Jesus Christ, I can't wait until this is all over.'_ Dain could see the debris floating around the planet, much of it incredibly damaged. The batarians had gained supremacy and if the fireballs starting to coat the planet were an indication, their campaign on the planet would be brutal.

Hopefully information gathered from the nearby derelict enemy ships would allow further insight. Salvage teams have already been deployed and thus far had reported no enemy survivors. That was good news at least; aliens didn't wear armor aboard their own ships _. 'Although,'_ he mused, _'it might have helped if we were able to send a few live bodies back to Arcturus.'_

Hackett was busy overseeing the repairs on his ship, the _Nagasaki._ Dain had sent some of his technicians to speed up the process. Even though both their ships were technically docked, they've yet to properly speak to one other face to face … or at all really. He guessed Hackett wasn't pleased with having to share command of the flotilla either, but both of them would have to cooperate or have Shanxi fall.

Mentally, Dain groaned. _'Why couldn't I have been posted somewhere quiet?'_ He lifted a data stick, of itself rather worthless, but made priceless by its cargo. _'Well sooner or later, I'll have to talk to Hackett about the info, and I'm guessing the sooner the better.'_

Pressing a few keys on his desk, Dain saw Selene's avatar appear.

"You called for me, commander?"

"Yes. What is the sit-rep of the repairs?"

"Overall progression is adequate, however you're most likely more interested in a deadline," The AI said off handily.

"You know me so well," Dain replied.

"Unfortunately, I do. My estimates show that both yours and Hackett's ships should be finished with repairs by Earth's evening or earlier." Seeing the surprised and hopeful expression on the commander's face, Selene elaborated further. "I was referring to the repairs being done on the QECs. The damages done to the _Tampa's_ cannon and the _Nagasaki's_ armor will require a proper repair ship to bring both vessels to their former glory."

Dain's face fell, but he wasn't too surprised. He knew he should be thankful that those were the worst damages both ships had suffered. Getting up from his chair, he turned to the exit.

"So I suppose you're on your way to meet with Hackett?" Selene called out.

"Yea, you mind informing him?"

"Already done." The smile painted on the AIs face was enough to make him curse. No doubt she was looking forward to the commanders arguing.

 _'Sometimes, they're more human than I'd like them to be,'_ Dain thought as he pressed the holo-keys to bring up the elevator.

* * *

 **Alliance Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

" _They're everywhere!?"_

"Sierra Delta, repeat!" General Williams said.

" _I'm looking at fighter jets and shuttles over Baja! We need reinforcements!"_ yelled the city's air traffic controller. In the background Williams could hear the sounds of fighters, bombers, and troop transports screaming through the sky. There was also the sound of explosions and gunfire, which meant there were already heavy battles occurring in the city.

Williams had long considered his posting to be a safe and quiet one, but all that had changed in the past few hours. He had awakened, expecting another routine day to come and pass like any other. Now he was in command of all human ground forces on the planet. With the combined Alliance/Confederate fleet in orbit beaten back, his only hope now was the 5th Fleet's QRF. Regardless of the situation, Williams had to hold out the best he could and his task was certainly no walk in the park.

"Stand by Sierra Delta," Williams rumbled, coming out of his thoughts. "Com! Connect me to the closest unit operating in that sector!"

A pause followed his request, filled with the half-static squelching common to all radios. One of the specialists spoke up. "Sir, we're attempting to establish contact with the nearest unit in that sector, but there is too much radio traffic."

Before Williams could snap at the specialist, a voice was heard on the other line.

 _"This is General Parker of the JSF eighty-fifth division, I read you. Do you copy over?"_

Williams had never been so relieved to hear General Parker's voice in his life. "General Parker, this is General Williams. We have heavy extra-terrestrial contact coming in hot over Baja, I need your division to reinforce that position, over."

" _Roger that. We're half a click out. We'll stop them, Parker out."_

General Williams then got on the comm to deliver an urgent message on every human frequency. "Attention to all armed forces of humanity, we are now at Defcon-0. I repeat we are at Defcon-0, we have hostile extraterrestrial contact. This is not a drill, this is a planetary invasion. All armed forces are now under the command of the Alliance over." Even though he had informed the other command officers, Williams wanted to ensure every citizen on the planet knew that as of this moment it was now the Alliance leading a united human front against the alien invaders.

Another voice sounded out, this time from within his own command center. "General Williams, I am reading over 50,000 bogeys heading your way _."_ Vianna said, highlighting the contacts on the general's map.

"Thank you, Vianna." Williams said, checking the map. As he scanned the map, he realized something didn't look right. Early reports indicated the enemy invaders had more than enough to secure an entire continent. Eyeing the map, he expected at least a division-sized force. "Do you know where they are dropping the majority of their forces?"

"Yes, it appears the bulk of the aliens forces have landed in Gozevech District, sir." The AI answered.

"Who is in charge of that district?"

"Colonel Morgunov."

Williams face paled slightly at the response. "My god, I almost feel bad for those aliens."

"Sir, there is more. The first waves of aliens only seem to be targeting major cities. Any remote settlements they're coming across are simply annihilated."

"Any idea why?"

"No. As of now we have no knowledge of the aliens' objective other than the total extinction of the human race. However, they are highly intelligent in warfare. Several human stations across the planet have detected numerous probes being deployed from the enemy fleet. My prediction is that the aliens are trying to detect our planetary cannons and will most likely send ground troops to either capture or destroy them."

"Do you have any good news?" Williams questioned

"Yes," the AI replied, brining up several displays over the map. "The invaders seem to be experiencing heavy resistance from the Republic Army; General Chu has his men heavily fortified in the suburbs across the planet. General Bando has already deployed the majority of his forces worldwide and those within the city are setting up choke points, I advise we reinforce their positions." Vianna informed.

Williams was impressed at the Enforcer's ability to rapidly deploy. He analyzed the overall status of Shanxi and somewhat agreed with the AI's evaluation of the situation. The JSF and SGB would have their hands full with the brunt of the attacks but would counter with their strengths; the JSF would use their advance robotics and rely on stealth to harass the enemy before they clashed. No doubt they would make heavy use of Spartan artillery and Blackfoot gunships. The SGB on the other hand relied on resilient strength and heavy armor, making them perfect for any head-on assaults. Williams may have never liked the brutal tactics of Colonel Morgunov, but it looked like this time they would be put to good use. The Enforcers would be in their element in urban warfare and he suspected they had some nasty surprises for the aliens. The Republic Army had vast amounts of resources at their disposal and their numbers were greatly needed as indicated by the numerous battles already occurring.

That only left his own men and women of the Alliance Marine Corps. Four divisions of Alliance marines awaited his command to take the fight to the enemy. The Corps' size was adequate for keeping the peace, and Alliance doctrine stated that home divisions were able and equipped to deter any invasions. The problem was that it was all theoretical, and this was one theory Williams was hoping that the Alliance got right.

Already several companies of Alliance Airborne troopers had managed to gain a foothold in the city, waiting for the bulk of the Corp to reinforce them. The city's police and counter-terrorist units were currently directing traffic and had set a perimeter around the bridges and highways leading out of the city. From his tactical display, Williams could tell the fight for the new Denver would be a bloody one.

"Vianna deploy the Sixty-Seventh. Have them assist General Bando's men any way they can. Do you have any news of the militias?"

"Yes, sir they are mobilizing as per your orders," The AI replied.

"Good. Are all fighters ready?"

"Yes, sir."

General Williams smiled. "Once the batarian shuttles are within the city limits, scramble all Slamhounds and Tridents. Have the Stingers provide air support for General Parker's men over Baja, they'll need it. Inform all the Hailstorms and bombers to lie in reserve until we regain air dominance. Once we have air superiority order all bombers to target enemy fortifications and armor."

"As you wish, sir." Vianna's hologram disappeared as she began relaying the news.

In the moment of chaos, a sudden realization hit General Williams. _'For the first time humanity stands united.'_

* * *

 **Baja**

 **Shanxi**

 **Archon Command Vehicle**

General Parker had never imagined that his career would have lead to him to staving off an alien invasion. With comm. buoys destroyed long range communications were severed, practically isolating the planet. Much of the planet had already stopped reporting in and Parker had assumed the worst. Their fleet, if you could call it that, had broken off and had retreated leaving the people on Shanxi vulnerable.

A few functional Angel satellites remained in orbit; intact, but only barely. The vast majority had been destroyed by the aliens' first major attack. Still, even with the option of adding the considerable firepower to his own, Parker debated whether to use them. If he fired upon the enemy fleet, the functioning Angels would become targets and be destroyed in all probability, leaving the JSF without a means to monitor the enemy fleet. The aliens most likely didn't know it, but each Angel had a VI installed sending data back to the forces on the planet. The intelligence gathered by them could greatly assist Alliance reinforcements. If used on the enemy's ground forces, the Angels would cause horrific losses upon the enemy and potentially tip the scales in his favor, but would also risk hitting civilians. The end result would be the same: the enemy fleet would destroy the satellites and possibly respond with heavy fire of their own.

If the situation in space was bad, on the ground it was worse. Certain settlements were already being bombarded, his troops were spread thin as it was, and an enemy corvette, accompanied by two frigates, was laying waste to the outskirts of the city. They were smart enough to keep their distance from the human air force, but continued to try to bait Parker into spreading his air cover outside the defenses of the city. Obviously he hadn't fallen for it, keeping all operational aircraft within range of small anti-air batteries. If not for the valiant efforts of Alliance and JSF pilots, the damage the enemy ships could have unleashed would have been much worse. Undisputedly, the enemy held the advantage in both space and on the ground. Earlier, he had sent troops across the city to battle for the west side and were attempting to push the invaders back, but his main attention was diverted to the Sentinel bridges located to the southwest. Generals Williams and Bando were attempting to hold New Denver, 132 kilometers north, which left only his men and several militia squads for him to rely on.

He growled under his breath. The aliens seemed to know the importance of Baja and had sent their second largest ground force to secure it. Baja was essentially a central transportation hub for the Gian continent; it was famous on the colony for having routes and highways to other major cities. If the enemy managed to secure it, not only would they have a direct ground route to New Denver, but they would simultaneously cut off both General Chu's men, who were evacuating civilians from the nearby suburbs and Colonel Morgunov, located about 1600 kilometers north where it was practically freezing.

General Parker ordered one of the men at the monitors, in his Archon command vehicle, to bring up a holographic display. The analyst nodded and tapped on his computer without hesitation. Parker walked to the rear of the vehicle where a massive console laid. It was one meter in height, but it reached ten meters in length and width. The tan checker boarded surface of the table lit up, lights beginning to appear above it. A massive 3D hologram appeared above the table as well as data scans highlighting data on the areas of interest. The continent was shaded in the same tan color as the JSF uniform, whereas the ocean floor was left unmapped. He'd sometimes wondered why no one had uploaded the relevant maps, but soon given it up as a lost cause.

' _Let the science lab rats deal with their oceanography'_ Parker decided. The hologram zoomed in on Baja and a signal began to patch through. It was scratchy and nearly unrecognizable as that of a natural voice, but the audio boosters cleared the transmission up.

"What's the sitrep on Baja?" He questioned the individual on the other line.

 _"Not good, sir. The aliens have neutralized most of our planetary cannons. The entire city is a blood bath and Griss harbor is a freaking SAM site. The aliens have air superiority over the skies, without air support it's a losing fight. To make matters worse, our men at the Sentinel Bridges are taking heavy casualties."_

General Parker cursed under his breath. The alien bastards just wouldn't give up, would they? "We _cannot_ and we will _not_ lose Baja," Parker snarled. He had already ordered enough men towards their graves trying to hold this city to let them have died in vain. "Are there any remaining units in the general vicinity of the battle zone that we can request?"

" _Affirmative: The Thirty-Seventh battalion is being held in reserve,"_ he reported. _"But the majority of the unit is composed of recruits, sir."_

With the quick glance to the men at the monitors, another holographic display temporarily replaced the hologram of Baja. The display showed the names, years, and combat effectiveness of the unit. The field commander wasn't kidding, the majority of the unit was composed of cadets, with only the COs having any combat experience.

"Put them on the line," He ordered. With a few commands on the consoles, Parker was immediately connected to the CO of the unit.

" _Sergeant Foley here, we are at the ready_ ," the CO of the unit said.

Parker immediately hesitated on the decision. _'A sergeant being in charge of the battalion? They're more inexperienced than I originally thought.'_ He looked down and saw the casualty reports. The major residing over the battalion had been killed during an airstrike. Parker was horrified to be sending in inexperienced soldiers, but he simply had to no choice.

"Sergeant Foley, General Parker here. I'm sending your men into the fight," Parker said with a grim smile. The hologram began to change and he sent a copy layout of the Sentinel Bridges. When it zoomed in, Parker noticed a large enemy ground force moving in. "Now for your mission objective: the invaders are moving in on the Sentinel Bridges. I need your battalion to reinforce and hold that position. I'm seeing reports of jammers in place so you boys will have no radio contact from HQ once you cross the dead zone. I'm sending ground and air assets to assist you, over."

" _Copy all, we'll get it done, sir."_ Foley responded shortly before cutting the link.

Parker hoped Foley was right, and that the sergeant had more than just a large amount of confidence in his men. He was sending boys and girls straight into war. Either way, they had to hold the bridges by any means necessary.

* * *

 **Baja**

 **Shanxi**

 **JSF 37th Reserve Battalion, 7th Platoon**

"This is beyond insane!" Corporal Dunn shouted. He'd already decided that fighting aliens wasn't much fun, but found it preferable he wasn't doing it up close and in person. The barrel of the mini-gun he manned was heating up, despite the larger heat sinks afforded by the Raptor. The gun's temperature kept climbing as he poured 7mm sized rounds at the parachuting armored figures.

All around them, AA fire ignited small fireballs across the morning sky, each spitting enough smoke and ash to mask the sun. Whatever rays of the morning star were able to penetrate through the cloud of smoke; they were completely covered by swarms of enemy aircraft coursing past. Overhead several transport shuttles arrowed across the city, dropping more of the aliens while allied fighters fought for control of the sky. The aliens seemed to be everywhere; for every alien shuttle destroyed another three would replace it. Several squadrons of Stingers were on their way to relieve Alliance pilot reserves, but they had to hold out for another twenty minutes.

Dunn shook his head. "Did I miss the memo where we were fighting four eyed aliens today?"

"It was in yesterday's report," Sergeant Foley chortled as he drove the Raptor through the war torn streets. Not even an hour into the battle, and already enemy bombers had collapsed entire buildings. It looked as if the aliens had bombed indiscriminately, annihilating anything that looked vaguely important. The end result was a predictable mayhem; buildings and skyscrapers were on fire or collapsing, enemy ships looming over the city like hungry vultures, and to make matters worse, any human resistance in the city was weak at best. With the majority of their planetary cannons knocked offline, the allied human forces were opened for orbital attack. Numerous units have been sent in to recapture the city's uplinks and restore power to the cannons… but none had responded since then. With the immense chaos everywhere, the entire planet seemed to be crying out from the pain of war.

Eighteen year old JSF cadet Scott Mitchell sat in the passenger seat of the lead Raptor; holding his SCAR A1, a powerful and easy to handle rifle capable of firing 6.8mm rounds at high velocities, close to his chest like a security blanket. Being a cadet meant he still had two years of training to undergo before being promoted to Private and then be formally inducted into the JSF military. However, General Parker had ordered every able bodied soldier into the defense of Baja. While lacking a proper receiving ceremony, he was nonetheless proud of his tan colored, standard issued JSF Ghost nano-composite suit. The small diamonds webbed into the armor on top of the nano-composite materials gave the armor a perfect balance between protection and flexibility; less sturdy than the SGB, but more durable than the EF standard. It even came with an active camouflage projector, which practically made him invisible. The only down side was the speed reduction; if the wearer moved too fast, the screen would dissipate.

He checked the helmet's restraints, sliding one finger around the seals to ensure its seal remained intact. The M50 series had a good reputation, providing everything from a protective air filter and HUD to a tactical cross-com camera and even a vital sign system monitor. It vaguely resembled the ODST helmet from Halo, which ironically it was somewhat modeled after. It wasn't the quality of the helmets used by the 15th Special Operations Battalion, but it got the job done.

Mitchell had come from a medium sized family in Ohio, a natural citizen of the UNAS on Earth. His father was a foreman in an automobile manufacturing plant while his mother was an assistant pharmacist. He was the oldest of four children, with two brothers and a sister. Since both of his parents worked during his childhood, he grew up relishing independence and self-reliance. As the oldest, he had often been in charge of raising his siblings, instilling in him a strong sense of leadership. After graduating high school and knowing he could not afford to go to college, he enlisted in the JSF military, rather than the Alliance. Very simply he was born a UNAS citizen and would serve as one, protecting his homeland. After that, he was shipped off to Shanxi to begin his training. Initially he planned to leave after a tour and use the benefits from serving to go to college, but during his first year in training he found that military life suited him and had decided he was going to stay. Of course … those plans hadn't included being sent straight to the frontlines against an alien invasion; especially as a cadet … but then again military life was filled with surprises.

Sergeant Foley ignored the Corporal's complaints, returning to the task at hand. Being in the lead of several Raptors and a few Fastback IFVs, he and his immediate squad were on their way to reinforce a bridge currently under siege by alien forces. If the aliens managed to take it, then they would be able to bypass several roadblocks and reach the suburbs. The squad hadn't been inform if the New Chinese Republic Army had evacuated all the civilians, but nevertheless they couldn't let their enemy take those bridges. The mission was simple: hold the bridge and take back the city. However he knew that no mission was that effortless.

The six vehicle convoy carrying the JSF platoon, designation Ice-pick, rolled briskly through the streets, catching small arms fire on occasion. According to the map, they had about a mile left to go before reaching their destination near Colon Park. The majority of the battalion was assisting the 2nd mechanized in holding a major highway and several key locations in the city.

The 7th platoon was ordered to branch off and find another way to their objective after it was clear the battalion wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. Several militia squads have been assisting the Ghosts, freeing the Pioneers to concentrate their firepower on enemy shuttles and armor around the city.

Sergeant Foley eyed the GPS as he drove well over the 80 mph speed limit. "It says here we have to take a right and follow Quarry Street all the way to the Sentential Bridges."

"Didn't we already pass Quarry Street?" Mitchell shouted up, his eyes scanning the street for signs of activity or for any silhouettes of enemy soldiers. He had to speak up or else his voice would have been drowned out by the sound of the Raptor's mini-gun firing.

"No, Quarry Street is past the police department," Foley explained. "And we still haven't passed the police… wait a moment …"

"What! What is it?" Mitchell asked, concern showing clearly on his face.

"I thought I saw some…"

There was a loud shriek followed by an explosion that shook Mitchell's teeth. The rear Raptor jumped, rolling mid air, and dropping onto its back. Mitchell turned and saw that the heavy duty, all terrain tires had been completely blown away. In the seconds following the explosion, the street lit up with small arms fire. Immediately, the convoy came to a stop and began exchanging fire.

Dunn dropped from the turret, opening the Raptor's door and equipping his M268 SAW. It was essentially a portable micro-gun that fired the same type of ammunition as the SCAR. The SAW's high rate of fire and portability made it a devastating weapon, able to cut down entire squads at a time. With that capability held in both hands, Dunn became a walking one man army, unleashing a withering barrage of rounds upon the invaders. The APE-1A2 exoskeleton he wore allowed him to operate the devastating weapon like a toy, as well as tripling the weight of gear he was able to carry. It was necessary since Dunn had to carry a large amount of rounds for his SAW and the AT5CQ rocket launcher, or Fire Spitteres as they were more commonly known.

The presence of ambushing enemy soldiers was an obvious signal that Mitchell and his squad had reached the frontlines. The whole street seemed to be filled with enemy infantry and armor. A strange tank, blocky in design with fixed wings and hover turbines, seemed to float in the air as it fired on the platoon's Fastbacks. Several shots were exchanged before the hover tank used its improved maneuverability to literally fly over their heads as the JSF opened fire. It was difficult getting a lock on it, eventually disappearing, leaving them to concentrate fully on the enemy infantry.

Looking out from the window, Mitchell saw the remains of a Mantis gunship collapse towards them. "Look out!" he yelled.

The Raptor accelerated, turning and shuddering into a rollover, shaking the soldiers inside it as the Chinese made gunship crashed onto the road. Dazed and baffled by what had just happened, Mitchell tired to free himself from his seat only to be interrupted by a loud bang, sending him into darkness.

Through the darkness, a voice kept hammering on his consciousness, pounding on the comforting black veil surrounding him. "Mitchell, can you hear me? Mitchell!"

Mitchell slowly opened his eyes, feeling his head swim. Why was he sleeping on metal? Where was … he remembered his training … his orders…and his mission! Details flowed back into his mind; he was lying on his side in a turned over Raptor, slumped back on a chair with a metal shard barely missing his neck. Blood dripped from his cheek down onto the floor, sizzling as it super heated on the metal below. He groaned, shifting in his seat, unbuckling himself. He could smell the sharp, tangy scent of smoke, charred metal, and flesh. The sickening smell of blood filled the air as he looked around, trying to gain awareness of his surroundings. The first thing he saw was Foley on his right, fidgeting with the seat-belt before the sergeant grabbed a combat knife and slashed it off.

"You alright, son?" Foley asked him.

"Yeah, just a little banged up is all," he replied.

"Can you still shoot?" the sergeant questioned him.

"As long as I can find my rifle," Mitchell said flatly, searching the Raptor for his SCAR. He finally found it wedged underneath his seat. The magazines were lost as well, though he suspected there must be plenty more lying on the street if he was lucky.

Mitchell flexed his grip around the SCAR's secondary stabilizer, and squinted through the hybrid sight, checking both sniper and standard modes. He actually preferred the accuracy of the longer sight, but for now, he left it as the single red dot hovering in the center of its viewfinder.

"Grab your weapon!" Foley said, grabbing his own SCAR. "We have to move!"

Mitchell nodded. Strapping the SCAR's strap over his back, he pushed the door on his right open and was met with the city's skyline. The sounds of bullets being exchanged engulfed his ears; his head throbbed in pain while forced himself out of the overturned Raptor.

A missile flew across the sky. Mitchell saw as it smashed into a skyscraper nearby with a massive explosion. Another missile flew into the same part of the building; crumbling the rest of that segment into a shattered mess, sending a large section of the building with a massive crash. Glass, metal, stone, and singed materials from inside the building fell, the debris landing on the infantry, causing only minor injuries. Oddly enough, despite all the massive amounts of damage occurring, Mitchell noticed the wheels on the Raptor still turning aimlessly, remaining in its sideways position.

Dunn, along with the rest of the platoon, was already establishing a perimeter. Several more Pioneers took up positions with their SAWs, their heavier shields allowing them to put up suppressive fire while absorbing massive amounts of punishment. The remaining Raptors and Fastbacks opened fire, managing to bog down the enemy soldiers with their tumultuous barrage.

Just behind him, Mitchell heard Foley leaped from the Raptor. The young cadet began surveying the area around them as the dust fell. He saw the sergeant charge forward, unclipping a magazine from his belt and tossing it to him. Mitchell caught it in midair, shoving it into the cartridge and tapping it a second time to ensure it was secure. He clicked off the safety and set the rifle to fire full automatic as Foley got close enough to address the whole squad. Relatively speaking.

"Everyone listen up! The bridge is about 1.5 kilometer north of here," he bellowed over the explosions that enveloped the city. "We're going to leg it from here, got it?"

"Roger that," Allen replied, hoisting up his huge sniper rifle. As both the team's sniper and medic, Richard Allen was a critical part of the team. Mitchell had always felt some kinship with Allen, both of them having enlisted right out of high school.

"Save that ammo of yours, Mitchell," Foley told him. "There should be more ammo up ahead, but make sure to pick your targets."

Mitchell nodded, clicking the setting back to semi-auto. He paused a deep vibration rocked his feet. Moments later, a Schwarzkopf rumbled down the street ahead of them, firing its massive cannons as several JSF Ghosts and Pioneers ran with it. They helped supplement Mitchell's platoon and the two Raptors and three Fastbacks began rolling behind them.

"Allen, Dunn!" Foley yelled. "You guys up?"

"We're good!" Dunn replied.

"Alright everyone!" Foley yelled, sending fire at the enemy slowly backing down the street ahead of them. "From here on up, there's no retreating; we will get to those bridges! Hit them hard and fast so we can get out of this hell-hole!" The troops replied with a series of firm affirmatives, pushing further and further down the street.

Several missiles flew around them, the small explosions destroying stores and small shops in the buildings on either side of them. Rubble flew around everywhere as Ice pick continued onwards leading the rest of the human force. Heeding Foley's words, Mitchell only lightly feathered the trigger on his SCAR, carefully aiming for the weak points, mostly the aliens' neck and head region. Normally, he would have fired at their major body mass since the head and neck were both narrow and difficult to hit at times, but with the armor the aliens were wearing he would have to fire at least five bullets of the forty round magazine. That meant unless he aimed straight at their heads, he would only neutralize eight enemies before he ran out of ammunition.

From initial intelligence as well as first-hand experience, Mitchell noticed how the bulk of the enemy's weapons were coil-guns and based on the same concept as the NCRA's weaponry. As a cadet, he had learned everything he could about Mass Effect weaponry, especially since one of the major opponents of the JSF used them. The strange hardware worked by shaving small bits of metal, just about the size of a grain of sand, off of an ammo block, then use element zero to accelerate the grain so that it moved at extremely high-velocities. The slugs fired from the weapons were designed to flatten or shatter upon impact to increase their slug's damage. Otherwise, there wouldn't be much damage if the rounds managed to pass right through enemy armor. The advantage was that the aliens essentially possessed a limitless supply of ammunition, but at the expense of creating ungodly amounts of heat. If Mitchell was right in that assumption, the aliens had to rely on heat sinks just like the NCRA or something similar otherwise their weapons would overheat.

He was momentarily pleased with the magnetically-propelled weapon in his hands, a rail gun, as most people referred to it. Unlike the enemy's weapons, the JSF's weaponry didn't suffer from overheating; the coils inside his SCAR were able to fire continuously for a two weeks without needing maintenance. The other major advantage of the SCAR was its 6.8mm round. The larger size and shaped allowed it to travel further, penetrate enemy armor more easily, and cause more damage than the sand-grain sized slugs. But like every weapon, the SCAR, and by extension the entirety of the JSF's arsenal, did suffer from one major setback: Logistics. The UNAS small arm weapons still relied on magazine cartridges much like the Enforcers and SGB. A standard magazine could hold forty rounds and the JSF's tactical vest allowed soldiers to carry twenty in total, amounting to eight hundred rounds per soldier. Individually, the aliens maintained an advantage, but as Mitchell looked to his sides and saw his fellow Ghosts and Pioneers fighting, he took pride that he was part of a team, and a team could always do more than a single individual.

"Hey, sarge do we know anything about these aliens?" Mitchell heard Allen shout over the sound of gunfire.

"No, what makes you think otherwise?"

"Well isn't the CO's job to relay information to his troops?" Allen questioned. Mitchell could tell the sniper was teasing the sergeant, who didn't appear pleased at all.

"Just shoot the damn four eyes!" Foley shouted, making a clear reference to the alien's biology.

"Four-eyes!? You know I actually like that name." Mitchell shook his head at the sniper's antics, but chose not to say anything.

The JSF infantry were very effective at fighting, despite being largely composed of cadets. However there hardly seemed to be a need for the Ghosts or Pioneers to fire their weapons as the Schwarzkopf and Fastbacks continued doing most of the heavy lifting. That was until another hover tank smashed through, or rather flew over, a blockade down the street, the massive gun mounted on top of the vehicle tearing through several Raptors.

Mitchell ducked behind a smoldering police car and switched to the ACOG sight on his SCAR, relishing the enhanced vision it afforded. Aiming just outside of the shattered windows, he sighted the gunner and fired two shots into the alien's head; unfortunately the shots were repelled by a kinetic barrier. To make matters worse, the aliens manning the hover-tank noticed him and began aligning the tank's cannon in his direction. Though his shields may protect him from rifle rounds and even a few missiles, they wouldn't be able withstand the force of a tank's cannon. Luckily for Mitchell, before the hover-tank could fire, the Schwarzkopf came within range and fired. The massive 130mm round easily penetrated the kinetic barriers of the hover-tank, a massive explosion engulfing it an instant later. What had once been a death-spitting machine was now a crumbling pile of ruined parts.

The sound of high-performance engines grew overhead, until suddenly a VF-1 Falcon appeared overhead, dropping off a package into the middle of the street. Running over, Mitchell tore off the top and dug inside for ammunition. He loaded one magazine into his rifle's chambers and quickly strapped another eleven onto his armor vest. He also noticed a new weapon, barely out of prototype stage, the XM322 Grenade Launcher lurking inside. Deciding the extra firepower could be useful, he grabbed the massive gun, strapping it securely to the back of his armor.

A massive explosion vibrated from down the street. Mitchell instinctively took cover behind the cache, knowing it was futile as he did so. Fortunately, what came down the street was not of enemy origin, but rather two Blackfoot gunships escorting another VF-1 Falcon as several squads of Ghosts and Pioneers roped down and stormed the street on their right. A few Alliance marines were also with them, their comparatively garish armor obviously different from their comrades. Once all the soldiers were down, the Falcon heeled over, returning to base while the pair of Black foots headed to a new area where they were most needed. Grateful for their assistance, Mitchell ran forward. The marines however did not know which side they were on.

"Check your fire!" Mitchell yelled after a few shots from his allies nearly hit him. "We're friendlies! Not four-eyes!"

"Mitchell, are you alright?" Allen asked.

"Fortunately." Mitchell was somewhat grateful for the marines' horrid accuracy.

"Hold your weapon, Dunn!" Allen said to the Pioneer with a large grin on his face. He was well aware of the Pioneer's short temper.

"No shit, Allen," Dunn replied with a scowl. Sergeant Foley hailed one of the marines, a young man with short black hair.

"Name's Foley, is this your squad?" Foley asked. The marine responded with a curt nod.

"Affirmative," He responded. "Sergeant Jake Garrnet. I've-" he was cut short as an enemy trooper ran out from behind a large pile of rubble. He carried no gun, wielding only a long, sharpened omni-blade. Before he could reach anyone, Mitchell fired upon the charging alien, killing him.

"Holy shit!" Garrnet nearly squealed. His eyes wide, focused on the wicked blade that was a few short feet from his heart.

Sergeant Foley recovered from the sudden attack first. "Alright," he said. "That was too close for comfort. Stay alert and move on me." Ice-pick closed ranks, advancing down the street before turning right at an intersection with the rest of the JSF and Alliance infantry. They only had three Fastbacks and a Schwarzkopf tank left for support, the rest of the Raptors having been destroyed by enemy fire. Far ahead, in the middle of the road, was a massive pile of rubble that blocked the fastest route to the bridges. They would have to maneuver around it, as Mitchell doubted the IFVs would be able to scale it.

But instead, before he could blink, the Schwarzkopf tank fired its main gun again with a Beyond Line of Sight, or BLOS, round and tore a gaping hole in the middle of the blockade. Mitchell ducked as gunfire rebounded off of the canyon-like walls of the city. Alien machine guns mounted in windows high in the skyscrapers surrounding them began to tear into the JSF troops.

The squad took cover and returned fire at the windows above, but the aliens were too quick to hide before Mitchell or anyone else could accurately shoot at them. He guessed one of the Fastbacks had relayed the peril the infantry were in to the other mechanized units; their canopies rotating upwards to face the threat. Within seconds, once targeting solutions were locked in, the three Fastbacks fired a barrage of HE rockets right at the skyscrapers. The rockets raced towards their targets, slamming into the buildings housing enemy troops and killing any within the blast radius. Debris raced down onto the street as numerous holes were left in several buildings. The slight veil of smoke caused by the Fastbacks' salvo cleared up fairly quickly, allowing Mitchell to witness the damaged caused. He was surprised the skyscrapers hadn't collapsed on themselves following the attack.

Just then enemy infantry began to climb over the rubble as well, firing down from the massive, seven meter pile. The alien's armored vehicles, armed with a mounted machine gun on top, attempted to assist their infantry, since the bullets from the light side-arms were bouncing hilariously off the Fastbacks' armor. The aliens IFVs however were a different story. Their mass accelerators were noticeably stronger, inflicting heavy casualties on the Alliance marines.

The marines responded with heavy fire of their own, FGM-90 missiles blasting across the battlefield leaving thin trails of vapor in their wake. Luckily the aliens only had three IFVs at their disposal; with the missiles pummeling the machines, the Schwarzkopf had little trouble dispatching them. Even in the chaotic environment, Mitchell noticed how the enemy's IFVs bared some resemblance to the NCRA's Makos. Both were rectangular in shape, operated on six wheels, and had a mass accelerator as a main weapon. The only difference he could determine was that the Mako had a higher suspension; its mass accelerator was mounted in front rather than in the rear, and lacked the side glass found on its enemy counterpart.

A grenade blast nearby brought Mitchell back into reality and not a moment too soon. Enemy troopers poured in, but the JSF vehicles, Ghosts, Pioneers, and Alliance marines cut them down as easily as slicing butter.

The situation changed when the sound of hovers filled the firefight and nearly a dozen hover-tanks flew above the pile, firing their cannons at the Fastbacks, who in turn launched another salvo of HE rockets. Both barrages collided with their intended targets, causing casualties to both sides. Not able to take the strain of the hover-tanks' rounds, two Fastbacks exploded, sending fire and metal in all the directions. Some Ghosts and Pioneers were killed in the explosions, forcing the rest to fall back in a hurried retreat. The enemy mimicked the action, now lacking heavy firepower of their own. The Fastbacks' rocket barrage managed to destroy four hover-tanks, but six still remained. The last JSF IFV pulled back, firing its 30mm chain gun, as the Schwarzkopf tank rolled forward, taking the brunt of enemy fire on its durable armor. Its massive 130mm cannon fired once again, belching a round from its barrel, completely ignoring the kinetic barriers of the hover-tanks and destroying them one by one. The surviving JSF Pioneers joined in on the action, firing their own Fire Spitters in a concentrated attack.

Loading another clip into his SCAR, Mitchell noticed Dunn aiming a Fire Spitter at the nearest hover-tank before firing. Mitchell was surprised when the hover-tank's kinetic barriers merely absorbed the blast, instead of dropping in a fireball of spare parts. However it was soon destroyed by another Pioneer's Fire Spitter.

"Sergeant, it takes two rockets to destroy the tanks!" Dunn yelled.

Foley's smirk was incandescent on his grimy face. "Pioneers, you heard him! Pair up and take the hover-tanks out! Our tank's shields can't take much more!"

As if to prove the sergeant correct, the Schwarzkopf's shields collapsed a few seconds later. The hover-tanks took advantage, firing everything they had in a desperate attack. Luckily, the tank's thick, multi-layered armor protected it from the blasts, preventing it from exploding, however noticeably large dents were made on the tank's armor.

The Schwarzkopf and the Pioneers, working in unison, managed to destroy the remaining hover-tanks. The mixed Alliance/JSF force immediately pressed the advantage as the aliens began retreating. A few enemy soldiers tried to make it into cover, but were cut down long in advance of getting close. The street shook as more bombardments ravaged the city. Mitchell suspected that a few missiles had destroyed another building, which would make passage through the streets even more difficult. Looking to his right, Mitchell saw a massive skyscraper fall, like one of the mythical titans of legend.

"Holy shit, are you guys seeing this!" Dunn cried out

The crashing skyscraper sent out a thundering crash, vibrating through Mitchell's ears and shaking the ground beneath his feet. Everyone was astonished at the massive tower's demise. "My… god," he whispered, his anxiety increasing tenfold.

"Everyone stay focused, we have a job to do!" Foley reminded the platoon. "C'mon keep moving!"

"I just hope no-one was inside," Allen told Mitchell, who shared the same sentiments.

Trying their best to ignore the scene they'd just witnessed, Ice pick continued advancing. They took a left turn on an avenue just ahead with everyone on guard. Foley stopped them as they came upon a shimmering TV in front of a wrecked electronics store. The show airing on the sparking screen was ANN live news, recording the battle of Baja, more specifically the fighting ravaging Griss Harbor. How they were still alive, Mitchell didn't know nor did he have a clue why the JSF military would allow reporters anywhere near the fighting.

 _"This is Janet Coleson reporting to you live from Griss Harbor where a massive alien force has invaded Shanxi and is making a massive push."_ The reporter stated, covered in grime and wounds. _"As you can see behind me, the JSF are doing everything they can to defend the city's planetary cannons."_ The camera angled up to show a battalion-sized force, arrayed in staggered lines, defending the harbor against a massive alien assault. Numerous Fastbacks provided cover against enemy aircraft; launching brilliantly colored rounds in the air while the Schwarzkopf tanks roared their wrath in the form of crushing attacks on the enemy lines. The loud thundering boom of Spartan artillery was also heard, smoke trails of their 155m shells raining down like hellfire from the heavens.

The watching platoon stared at the screen, silently cringing as missiles flew from an enemy frigate overhead right into the harbor, tearing into more buildings and warehouses. Even from their locations, the platoon was able to hear the echoes of the blast. Fires ignited on the nearby buildings, hiding the approach of an allied corvette until it roared into view, seemingly challenging the enemy frigate.

 _"Oh … my … god! Are you getting this?"_ The reporter shouted, ducking as a missile hit nearby. The camera shook as it reoriented to show the blast. The signal from the camera became static as the reporter tried to show as much combat footage as possible. Yet despite the lack of signal quality, the feed was able to clearly depict what appeared to be a clash of titans.

The Alliance corvette and enemy frigate battled it out over the battlefield, pumping pure devastation into each other's naked flanks. The corvette's energy cannons easily bypassed the frigate's kinetic barriers, causing portions of the frigate's armor to literally melt off. The frigate answered by targeting the corvette's with its mass accelerator. The direct hit collapsed the corvette's kinetic barriers, knocking one of its cannons offline.

Still the corvette held its own, firing all kinetic pods it had remaining. The frigate absorbed the damaged, but was heavily crippled. The Alliance corvette appeared to be readying for the kill when a squadron of enemy fighters and interceptors arrived. The corvette activated its GARDIAN batteries, lines of lasers scoring a direct hit each time. The frigate used the moment to escape, firing off torpedoes while the corvette struggled to hold off the enemy aircraft. With its defenses overwhelmed the corvette exploded in a large fireball, sending shockwaves and what was left of the ruined ship plummeting straight into the sea.

With air dominance achieved, the alien aircraft began making dive attacks against the defenders. The area became infested with missiles and bombs, destroying everything nearby. One such missile flew right at the camera, causing the screen to go black. Once again the platoon tried to keep their moral up despite witnessing another tragic event.

"So what's the game plan?" Dunn asked.

"Same as before," Foley replied, moving further through the street. "Get to the bridge and kill the bad guys."

Dunn chuckled. "I like it," he said.

The platoon struggled for footing as the street shook underfoot. Street lights began to flicker uncertainly in the gloom, thrown from their normal routine by the pillars of dust casting long shadows over the road. It was difficult to see through the ash and smoke, but not impossible, which was the only reason allowing them to continue. As they advanced, they saw several destroyed enemy gunships lying on the ground. The alien crafts had managed to smash through the asphalt in places, colliding into underground water pipes. Water leaked from the pipes, causing the street to become dame in some places and slightly flooded in others.

The sound of artillery firing became louder and louder as Ice pick continued to advance. Foley stopped his platoon when they came upon an enemy artillery emplacement, apparently firing on allied positions within its range. "Alright men, you know the drill," the sergeant bellowed.

The platoon reacted accordingly, suppressing the enemy with their impressive arsenal. Mitchell tossed a frag grenade in the alien's direction. They failed to notice his throw, the grenade landing right at their feet. The grenade detonated, sending shrapnel and yellow liquid into the air. The aliens screamed as they were cut down with lethal efficiency. Their blooded carcasses reeked as they lay on the road, staining it with their yellow blood. One of the four eyes had both his left arm and legs blown off, but was still alive despite the blood loss. Mitchell shot the poor bastard in the head, killing him instantly.

He then saw Foley trying to use the short range radio link, most likely to call any reinforcements in the area. "This is Sergeant Foley, commanding officer of the Seventh platoon, Thirty-Seventh battalion, call sign Ice-pick! Does anyone read me?" Static was the sergeant's answer. The man cursed, using language words Mitchell didn't recognize … even after a full boot camp experience.

"Right." Foley glared at the protruding edges of the Sentinel bridges. "Looks like they want to make this some kind of challenge." He turned a bloody grin to his men. "I say: bring it."

The platoon roared in response, making the grin grow wider. Mitchell felt a similar smile breaking out on his own face. Intellectually, he knew it was dangerous, letting the group influence his decisions … but at that moment, all he wanted to do was _kill._

Mitchell, along with the rest of Ice-pick, complied, followed the sergeant as he charged headlong through the warzone. The road underneath him continued to vibrate; the Fastback and Schwarzkopf rolling close behind him. The feeling was intoxicating, carrying death in hand, followed by the near personification of doom in the form of rolling tanks.

"Maintain the pace," Foley said, running easily. "We _have_ to reach those bridges." The platoon yelled out affirmatives, forming up on the tank once more. As they were about the reach the bridges, a transmission came through the radios.

 _"…any human forces, we are being hit on both sides of the Sentinel bridges. We are surrounded and outgunned. We need reinforcements immediately!"_

"Shit, that's the men on the bridges. They need our help." Allen said.

"Everyone Oscar Mike it to the bridges! We're only half a click out and they need us there now!" Foley ordered. Their vehicle support hit the accelerator, continuing at top speed. The two vehicles rumbled through the street like giants on their way to battle, the Schwarzkopf taking point. Suddenly both JSF vehicles came to a stop, approximately 200 meters north of the platoon's position. When Foley reached them, he looked up ahead with wide eyes. He held up a hand to silence the rest of the allied force and signaled them to get down.

"We got shooters up ahead," Foley whispered. "Allen, you're up."

Allen gave a nod and moved forward while everyone else took up positions behind cover or behind the vehicles. Allen aimed his M120 sniper rifle downrange and waited for the signal. Sergeant Foley held up three fingers. He closed them sequentially and pulled down his fist, giving the signal to open fire. Allen immediately sent one hypersonic .50 caliber ferromagnetic slug after another at his chosen targets. The brash noise of the weapon firing completely overshadowed everything else. Every time a round from the sniper rifle connected with alien meat it practically tore it to shreds, eviscerating entire limbs and ripping bodies apart. A split second after his first shot, the rest of the platoon joined in on the action, the vehicles shuddering a basso line to their higher-pitched side arms.

Despite the fact that they had been killing aliens the entire way, for some reason the aliens were completely unaware of the JSF's presence, completely blindsided when bullets, grenades, and massive cannon rounds obliterated their positions. Their bodies slumped to the ground as the barrage flew through their ranks. The combined human force ran down the street in an orderly fashion, keeping the enemy suppressed as they came to bear on their destination. The aliens began firing on the large platoon, but they had lost momentum, and were now trapped and taking fire from two sides.

Mitchell ducked behind cover again to reload his SCAR, and then flicked off the ACOG sight to fire at the remaining invaders with as much peripheral advantage as possible. Bullets shattered glass around the JSF troopers while abandoned vehicles caught fire as the platoon fought their way through the intersection leading to the bridges. Once the forward enemy position was eliminated, the platoon regrouped with the remainder of the JSF battalion guarding the bridges. The group, haggard from long hours of fighting, ran over to the more experienced Ghosts and Pioneers with Foley beginning to assess the situation.

"What's the sitrep?" he asked.

"The four eyes are dug in deeper than a mole," the Ghost captain growled. "They're kicking our asses, we can't secure the other side of the bridges, and destroying them is not an option. Command says they are a strategic asset. We're outnumbered and the enemy is setting up armor on the other side for a final push."

"How many tanks do they have?" Foley asked.

"We counted at least twenty." The Ghost replied.

Foley cursed, the Fastback and Schwarzkopf wouldn't be able to take out that many.

Mitchell however was struck by an idea. He caught the sergeant's eye, and shipped his SCAR to his back while unstrapping the prototype XM322 Semi-Automatic Portable Grenade Launcher. He hefted the massive gun on his shoulder, loaded a grenade magazine into the rear cartridge, aimed, and fired. The grenade impacted on the nearest hover-tank in front of them; unfortunately, its kinetic barriers merely absorbed the blast. Before it could fall back, Mitchell immediately fired the remaining 11 grenades, the combined explosions obliterating the hover-tank as well as a number of exposed enemy combatants near the vehicle.

 _'One down, nineteen more to go.'_ he thought. Mitchell fired another two magazines at the hover-tanks, destroying two more. He fired another magazine, but changed targets to the enemy infantry, hoping to slow them down. Unfortunately, the bridges were now crawling with the alien bastards, apparently to be intent on taking them.

* * *

 **Baja**

 **Shanxi**

 **23rd Infantry, 5th Order**

General Turik' Han glared at the stubborn contingent defending the weak point. Warfare wasn't his most favored occupation, but his mind had a natural turn for tactical situations, and the decision had been made. It wasn't all bad. As the commander of the glorious 23rd Infantry of the 5th Order, he had won the right to own property, buy Tier 2 slaves, and challenge others for insults to his House.

 _'Unfortunately, there are some exemptions to being challenged …_ he glared at the Special Advisor once again. ' _Slaves should be protected carefully, not wasted like animals!'_

"Your men aren't capturing the bridge, general _._ " Kalph' Amon commented acidly. The advisor unhooked a small set of binoculars, putting them to his lower pair of eyes. "It appears the aliens are receiving reinforcements. What do you plan to do now?"

 _'First, execute you for gross negligence. Second, challenge your House for damage to_ my _House_ _. Third, order an orbital bombardment of every civilized sector of this planet, and see to it any blood relative of yours is caught in the blast.'_ Han tilted his head, acknowledging the superior position his opponent held. "I would return to my initial suggestion, advisor. Engage them with aerial bombardment, followed by an armored vehicle push."

Amon snorted. "Our fighters are being torn apart whenever they get close to the ground, and our Harsa tanks are getting shredded by side arms. _Side arms!_ " He put down the binoculars, rolling his left eye set, "This raid has cost us over two hundred mobile armored units as it is. Use infantry."

"As you say, advisor." General Han stepped to one side, sending out orders for reinforcements. He didn't like it.

' _I have watched over my slaves as the Pillars of Strength instruct: Those who are entrusted to you show your character. This fool has none.'_ As Han gave the instructions, he had a thought. ' _I have tried to inculcate some level of intelligence in my people, perhaps they will get the message?'_

Two minutes later, he rejoined the advisor, still not content, but satisfied with his endeavor. "Two platoons are en route. I asked them to bring support as able."

"Good. We'll show them who's in charge …" The advisor's voice lowered to a softer timbre. "They will make excellent slaves, incredible combat potential."

Eavesdropping was strictly forbidden in the Hegemony. Therefore it was to Han's surprise when he realized it was practiced by everyone. '

 _'I shouldn't be surprised, but I am,'_ he thought.

He took a moment, mentally evaluating his chances for surviving a sudden loss of a superior, but decided they weren't high enough in his favor. '

 _'It is war, there will be opportunities.'_ _Han thought, watching as his men progressed through the bridges._ He growled as yet another charge failed to oust the stubborn resistance. Only years of practice stopped him from drawing his blade and testing the rumor of ice-blooded Na'Hesit.

 _'He can't be anything else, what with how callous he's been to my men.'_ Han hefted a sniper rifle, ostensibly searching for targets. In reality, he was giving himself breathing room after the odious attempt of that … _budalla të përgjakshme_ to gain credit at his expense.

 _'Hundreds of good people, lost to stupidity!'_ Han caught sight of an alien, peeking out from behind a vehicle. Instead of instantly squeezing the trigger, he watched, memorizing the behavior. _The aliens were highly trained,_ he decided after witnessing the alien reload his weapon without looking. That opinion had to be revised, after seeing the alien fall to a sniper round from an oblique angle. ' _Trained, but new to open warfare. No veteran would have left himself exposed like that.'_

Han scanned the entire bridge, admiring the methodology for the monster piece of hardware blasting away at his own heavy vehicles. _'A pity I had to trade my own artillery for better training,'_ he mused. ' _One good flanking maneuver and the bridge would be mine. Better yet, a single strafing run would clear it.'_

His thoughts were interrupted by the presence of the person he despised the most. Instantly, he was on his guard; the Na'Hesit were renowned for eliminating those who failed, or simply failed to accomplish tasks. That was acceptable, anyone who was unable to adequately defend himself was worthy of death. What was more worrying was the absence of Vras Me-Shume, the body servant he'd assigned to care for the advisor. Equally disturbing was the smirk gracing the ruthless man's face.

"I trust everything is going well?" the advisor commented.

"I fear not," Han responded with a guarded tone. He made a quarter turn, keeping the Advisor in his peripheral while scanning the bridge again. Movement caught his eye. "What's this?" He started to raise his arm, intending to order the platoon back under cover. Amon, however, froze his arm with a single glance.

"Leave it. I took action, after your ineptitude cost us several hundred men."

For a moment, Han couldn't believe his ears. ' _He's blaming me … of all the cowardly — and he's trying to make me angry! Why!?'_

Once again buying time, he swung the entire pivot, turning his back to the advisor. "My suggestions are logged as per regulation," he said quietly. "I will accept justice as the Pillars demand." A snorting sound met his ears.

"Pillars," Amon sneered, "A weakness for weak men. Strength comes from what you take for yourself, from victory and success. No matter what the cost." He nodded at the platoon making its way to the bridge, being met by a withering wall of incoming fire. "That's something old Vras knows well."

Han's keen eyes picked out the tall figure of his bodyguard, leading the platoon forwards. His mouth went dry. ' _No! _Not Vras, the man that taught me how to fight, protected me from harm on a hundred battlefields!'__

"What have you done!" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Done? Why, secured victory, of course." Amon carefully stalked to the wall beside Han, just out of arms reach. "When I mentioned to Vras that a failure here would undoubtedly reflect negatively on your career, he … _volunteered …_ to personally direct the next assault."

 _'Marrëzi. He would no more leave my side than take an oath of Heresy.'_ Han thought. Aloud though, he said nothing.

Amon prowled closer. "I am certain he will do a fine job, particularly since it was _he_ that taught you all you know, yes? He seemed _very_ fond of that idea."

Han kept the rifle in both hands, in order to prevent his shaking hands from betraying him. ' _Pillars, give me strength. Sutras 37:5, watch your charges, guide them with firm hand as I have guided you. Sutra 52:5, if the stranger in your gate be hungry, treat him as your own. Protect him as your own. Defend him as your own. But if he betrays your trust, cast him from your gates, for he is anathema in my sight.'_ Something snapped. ' _I will not disobey the Pillars, no matter what the cost.'_

"You are right, sir." Han hung his head slightly. The gesture, although potentially mistaken as humility, was also a lesser-known request for penance, acknowledging a previous error.

' _In this case, for allowing one under my ownership to be sent to the slaughter. I will avenge him.'_ _Han declared._

"Aren't I always?" Amon leaned on the wall, resting his weight on both hands. For one brief moment, he turned all four eyes away from Han, providing the Hegemony general with the perfect opportunity.

In that moment, Han acted. In one casual move, he extended a leg, tucking it under the advisor's own lower body, and lifted it. The unbalanced officer tipped forwards off the ledge, tumbling over the edge of a twenty story fall. The sound of scraping armor, punctuated by a terrified scream, bounced off the hard walls provided by the city, almost like a final courtesy for the falling man's rank.

Before the Amon reached the ground, Han had his communicator up. "Vras, get your men back. I'm calling in an airstrike." With a sinking heart, he watched the batarians clear the bridge. He hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

 **Baja**

 **Shanxi**

 **JSF 37th Reserve Battalion, 7th Platoon**

The JSF infantry regrouped on the Schwarzkopf as the enemy made a massive push. The Pioneers used their SAWs and Fire Spitters to keep the hover-tanks and enemy engineers from destroying their last heavy tank. Ghosts used their SCARs and M120s to try and suppress the aliens; but they couldn't keep up with the numbers. Only two Alliance marines were still left alive, the rest either dead or deployed to new hotspots.

Suddenly a comm. transmission came over the radio. _"To all units in Baja, this is the 239th JSF airborne. We have eliminated the enemy jammers. All isolated units are ordered to regroup to the nearest JSF stronghold and await further orders, over and out,"_

"Well that's one small victory," Allen said, firing his powerful sniper rifle at the enemy.

Relieved that they now had a link back to command, Foley began transmitting. "General Parker, this is Ice-pick actual," Foley called into the radio, hoping there wasn't too much radio traffic. "I'm requesting an immediate air strike on enemy armor seventy-nine meters north of our position, over!"

 _"Sergeant Foley,"_ General Parker's voice replied within seconds. " _All of our air support is already engaged. Additional reinforcements are en route to your position, but have encountered heavy resistance, over._ "

"Copy that," Foley said as he took cover behind a car. Numerous civilian vehicles still remained on the bridge, making it harder for the aliens to traverse. However, their hover-tanks could easily bypass the blockade. "Be advised, we've reached our destination and are taking heavy fire, over."

" _I copy,"_ Parker replied. " _I'll send what I can, but you need to hold out."_

"Roger that."

"Sarge?" Dunn asked as he took cover from enemy snipers. "Did HQ just tell us to go fuck ourselves?"

"Pretty much, corporal," Foley grunted as they dug into their position. The hover-tanks flew down the bridges, firing at any exposed infantry within range. They became death machines, decimating entire positions and leaving only burning ruins. The JSF soldiers dove behind cover as the hover-tanks tore into their positions, blasting cars apart and tearing them into pieces.

Mitchell took out a smoke grenade and tossed it down the bridge. It rolled down until it hit the center of the bridge. The pin clicked and flew off, and a large cloud of artificial smoke flew up, surrounding the bridge.

The JSF vehicles and infantry switched their optics to infrared, aiming their weapons down the bridge and firing into the enemy ranks, which were momentarily exposed. The combined fire saw a few hover-tanks destroyed and many enemy infantry killed, but the same cover the JSF was using worked for the aliens as well. Mitchell saw several enemy gunships fly overhead, however the Fastback's AA gun and the Pioneers' Fire Spitters kept them at bay. Several were wiped out of the sky before the remaining enemy gunships decided to disengage, probably to target weaker JSF positions.

Finally, seeming to have decided they'd had enough; four-hover tanks flew high above the JSF position firing their cannons their massive cannons on the infantry and the vehicles. The JSF vehicles returned fire; but the Fastback was destroyed in the process. The Schwarzkopf tank, along with the Pioneers, fired everything it had at the tanks, destroying all of them. The massive tank had been badly beaten and wouldn't be able to take much more hits. To make matters worse several alien shuttles arrived, beginning to unload even more enemy troops on the other side of the bridges. The JSF infantry on the left bridge were faring a bit better while Foley's men appeared ready to collapse on the right one. Strengthen in numbers, the aliens, along with their vehicles, charged at the JSF line.

The Schwarzkopf and any remaining Pioneers targeted the hover-tanks, while a few of the stronger Ghosts swapped their rifles for the SAWs and fired on the enemy infantry. Mitchell fired on the targets, dropping them one by one. Each time he shot there was a yellow splatter as the heated blood flew in all directions. Then, another smoke screen appeared in front of them, but with Mitchell switching his helmet's optics to thermal, he easily saw the enemy coming. The Schwarzkopf fired a HEAT round at the center of the bridge, killing a hover-tank and twenty nearby enemy infantry, leaving them lying in pieces.

What Mitchell was truly worried about, however was how their own numbers were dwindling. Fast. They were down to thirty-eight men as opposed to the hundred and fifty they'd picked up along the way. Aside from the hover-tanks still hitting their position, Mitchell saw all of the enemy troopers beginning to evacuate the area and fall back to the other side. He was extremely relieved; the enemy had taken over three-fourths of the bridge and had been dangerously close to overrunning the JSF position.

"I think those four eyes had enough!" Dunn said with a grin.

Before Mitchell or anyone else had a chance to comment, something else appeared in the sky. Soon the silhouette morphed into the shape of an enemy fighter with its weapons trained on the JSF's position.

"ENEMY FIGHTER. GET DOWN!" Foley yelled. The order echoed in Mitchell's ears as he saw the ground in front of him shudder and be torn apart, scattering tons of debris. Billowing smoke, ash, and dust flowed forth, obscuring his view.

The fighter fired two missiles, while peppering the area with its nose cannon. The missiles impacted the Schwarzkopf tank, completely obliterating it. The massive vehicle was knocked to one side as its crew was incinerated by the blast. Several JSF infantry were torn to pieces as the fighter unleashed its nose cannon upon them. Entire limbs were torn off as gallons of red crimson blood were forcefully poured out of their bodies. Yells of agony and pain from several wounded Ghosts and Pioneers were heard as they were left on the bridge with barely any medical supplies to assist them. Once the fighter finished its run it peeled off and disengaged; its ordnance leaving the JSF practically defenseless as it destroyed whatever remaining cover they had left.

After the attack, Foley grew furious and tried once more to contact General Parker. "General, this is Foley. We need immediate reinforcements, I repeat we need reinforcements! WE ARE COMBAT INEFFECTIVE!" he yelled. He had to cough into the headset as some of the debris slipped in through his helmet.

Seeing the defenders in a hopeless situation, the aliens plunged deep into the bridge, victory within their sights once more.

 _"Sergeant Foley, I read you. Reinforcements are on their way, but they are experiencing enemy resistance. Whatever you do, hold that bridge at all costs!"_

"Affirmative," Foley replied grimly.

The thirteen remaining Ghosts and Pioneers knew what that meant. Whatever lives they may have had, they were now ordered to give them up for the very same bridge they stood on. Mitchell, Dunn, Allen, Foley, and the rest of the surviving soldiers aimed their weapons down the bridge as the remaining hover-tanks fired their cannons at any debris or vehicles still left on the bridge, paving a way across for their infantry. Through the enhanced vision of his ACOG hybrid sight, Mitchell could easily see twenty enemy troopers within weapons range. Many more were behind the first wave of enemy soldiers as they shouted in their native tongues. He guessed they could practically taste victory.

"I won't lie to you men, the situation is grim," Foley began speaking. "Now I know all of you here are mostly cadets, but based on your bravery and courage here to today I'm proud to say all of you have earned the right to be called JSF," Foley said. The same grin he'd worn earlier returned to his face. "Now, let's show these four eyes what we can do, horahh!"

"HORAHH!" Screamed every JSF soldier still alive as they opened fire. Even the wounded forced themselves into firing positions, intent on going down fighting.

Mitchell squeezed the trigger on his SCAR, feeling the reassured kick as the rifle fired like an angry beast. The array of JSF weaponry at his side answered the enemy's assault with all the fury men backed against a wall could muster. Doomed, but deadly.

Bodies began piling up on the bridge as the enemy began to overwhelm the defenders. The JSF infantry were beginning to run low on ammunition as they fired everything they had at the enemy troopers. Dunn ran out of ammunition on his SAW so he switched to his Berretta pistol. Allen, still having several magazines on his sniper rifle left, gave the rest of his SCAR mags to those who needed them. Foley still had two left, though his rifle was quickly eating through them.

Mitchell was on his last one as he dropped a few enemy soldiers, his heart hammering almost as fast as his rifle. Unfortunately the remaining hover-tanks were all in position, lining up their cannons at the JSF line.

"Well I guess this is it. It's been nice knowing you all," Dunn said grimly.

 _BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM._

Suddenly there was a loud series of explosions _,_ rumbling through the air almost as if artillery was firing. The human survivors looked up to see a most pleasant sight ... several artillery rounds, followed by the famous JSF Grid Smasher rockets, flying through the ash covered sky. The aliens didn't know what hit them as dozens of 155mm Howitzer artillery rounds crashed onto their position, followed by hundreds of rocket pods. The hover-tanks were obliterated as the enemy infantry were torn to shreds. Yellow blood and limbs seemed to overflow the bridge as several alien soldiers were thrown aside, their bodies landing in the river below.

Whatever hope the aliens may have had was quickly evaporated as several squadrons of Blackfoot gunships appeared in the skies overhead. _"Diamond back to bridge, we have the enemy in our sights. Get ready for the fireworks."_ One of the pilots said, before his gunship fired its 30mm chain gun.

The others followed suit, shredding multiple exposed enemy troopers. At the sight of the gunships and with their momentum destroyed, the aliens began retreating. But only a few of them managed to successfully fall back without being killed by the relentless gunships. General Parker had come through for them after all. The JSF survivors cheered as the friendly gunships tore through their enemies.

"It's about time you guys got here!" Dunn exclaimed as he, Foley, Allen, and Mitchell watched the show. Several dozen VF-1 Falcons appeared dropping off reinforcements. Sergeant Foley had the platoon take care of the wounded, every single one being carried onto the Falcons and airlifted away to any nearby hospitals controlled by friendly forces.

 _"Sergeant Foley,"_ General Parker called. _"I have a new mission for your boys."_

"Roger, what's the mission?" Foley asked.

 _"The enemy is capturing uplink Alpha as we speak and we still have that blasted enemy corvette up in the sky, along with a couple of frigates. The majority of our ground troops are still heavily engaged and we can't take any large offensive actions with those ships in the air. I need your men to secure the uplink in the city's harbor; otherwise there won't be a city to save."_

 _"_ I copy. We're loading up the wounded right now. Once we're done we'll head over to Griss Harbor."

" _Just be careful,"_ Parker warned. " _I'm picking up a lot of enemy infantry in the area. They seem to have no armor, but I advise caution."_

"Copy that, general. Over and out." Once Foley finished talking to the general, he addressed his men. "Alright you heard the news, mount up. We have a new mission, let's go!" He ordered.

Whatever remained of Ice pick loaded up on the Falcon transports alongside its parent company within the battalion. Reinforcements, bringing up the platoon to half strength, were already waiting aboard.

"General Parker, this is Ice pick actual," Foley called. "We're en route to the cannons now."

" _Acknowledge. God speed Ice pick."_ Parker replied.

Mitchell looked outside at the Baja skyline, the destroyed buildings glowing like hot embers in the broad daylight. Black smoke began to evaporate into the light blue sky, allowing the first few rays of sunlight to penetrate through the clouds. For the moment, he allowed the first wave of hope to wash over his body.

 _'Maybe, just maybe we'll get through this,"_ he thought as he was lifted through the city.

* * *

 **Baja**

 **Shanxi**

 **23rd Infantry, 5th Order**

Things were going so well. The 23rd began crossing the bridge, the resistance reduced to nearly a skeleton crew, victory was all, but assured. Then doom began droning from the skies. It all started when he heard the loud booming of giants. Before he could warn the leading officers, artillery shells and rockets fell from the sky. Vapor trails appeared like magic, explosions blowing apart entire companies. The bridge's surface was cracked by the sheer force of the impact. The tanks he had sent to the bridge were now disintegrated ragged sheets of metal. But the massacre did not end there. No, the true horror was when he heard engines from the sky, similar to the piercing cry of vengeful birds. Very _large,_ exceedingly _angry_ birds.

Han watched as a squadron of enemy gunships obliterated his men, taking out entire platoons at a time with their rockets and guns. The machines showed no mercy, and why would they? To them the 23rd was just an invading force and Han watched as his men were destroyed. Those that tried to retreat were killed. Knowing he could not save his men, he took cover underneath a collapsed building, barely avoiding death from the enemy's gunships. He stayed down, listening as the predatory machines, their howling fading into the distance. The floor felt cool, comfortable against the back of his neck. All around, he could hear the cries of wounded soldiers, and the occasional crack of small arms fire. The temporary lack of movement gave him a chance to review the actions of both himself and the planet's defenders. Somehow, their reliance on stealth rose to the surface of his mind, swift tactics that looked as if they would work on multiple planets in a myriad of surroundings.

' _This isn't a raid,'_ he realized. ' _No primitive race would provide such sophisticated levels of resistance. No, this is war.'_

* * *

 ** _SSV Tampa_**

 **Cruiser**

 **Com Station, War room**

"Commander Dain, I understand your reasoning. But, keep in mind this no time to let your emotions get the better of you." Hackett's glare did not waver, even more potent in person.

Dain slammed his fist on the table, sending a loud bang across the room. Thankfully they were the only two in the room. Apparently every technician knew of his less-than-cordial relationship with the other commander. "Spare me the formalities, Hackett. You and I both know this is the last situation we'd both wanted." His eyes narrowed. "What I want to know is why you are so insistent on letting those colonists on the planet die without a good cause!" Dain raised his voice, nearly yelling at his rival. The walls couldn't contain his volume, unfortunately, most likely encouraging eavesdropping crewmembers to listen in.

The two commanders had gone back and forth for a good hour, laboring over their next step. The AIs' had finally completed their analysis, sending the data packet to every compatible QEC system. The crux of the matter was that not every available QEC sets were capable of receiving the data; Hackett's, being partially damaged, could only send data. Dain's could only receive; and it was apparent that all QEC systems on Shanxi had been preset to communicate solely with other terrestrial units via a central hub. One massive bureaucratic snafu Dain was going to be bringing up with Arcturus Command at his earliest convenience.

' _We have to send this to Williams, this could save lives!'_ Dain fumed. Without the unique broadcast unit most corvettes possessed, he had to rely on his counterpart for any outgoing data-streams. Hackett, however, wanted to refrain from such an action, seeming to believe the energy signature from such a broadcast might alert the enemy to their whereabouts. Neither had shown any indication of budging; the Alliance did not promote the weak-willed to positions such as theirs.

Hackett narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw in an attempt to withhold his fury. "Let me be clear commander. While it is true we have valuable information on the enemy that is true, do you honestly believe risking our position to inform Williams that he's dealing with slavers would improve the outcome? Our fleet has been forced to retreat; we're the only ones still left in the system." He gave Dain a meaningful look. "We're the last eyes and ears present. The best thing that we can do is wait and keep tabs on the enemy."

"Then that's it? We just sit here and watch as good men and women die defending that rock called Shanxi? We have an opportunity to help those stranded on and it is our deputy as Alliance soldiers to-" Dain should have been used to being interrupted, but it still drove up his blood pressure.

"Duty? DUTY!? Our duty is to ensure the survival of what ships we have left! Any intelligence we can gather on the enemy will assist the Alliance in the long run far more than a single frontier world could. You want to take another gamble and risk getting your crew needlessly killed? That's your choice, but leave my ship out of it!" Hackett bellowed, his voice filling the room.

"May I remind you, commander, that is was _my_ gamble that saved _your_ ass?" Dain said, dangerously close to Hackett. Both men, under normal circumstances, had an air of authority that intimidated nearly every crewman in their presence. Yet, the discipline each possessed held their fury in check, preventing the situation from escalating. "Now I understand your reasoning, I do, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to sit here and watch those batarians kill of any more humans!" He spun on a heel, facing a terminal. A few taps brought up a display of Shanxi, batarian ships crowding over it like vultures. "Moreover, we don't know when Alliance reinforcements will arrive. It could be days, weeks, even months and by that time it'll be too late."

Hackett growled in frustration. "I realize that, but we are no good to anyone if we're dead! The most we can do is deploy probes and monitor the batarian fleet. Look at the conditions of our ships, Dain! A single mass accelerator slug from a frigate would be enough to finish us off! I know your heart is in the right place, but avoiding a firefight with the enemy should be our top priority."

"I know," Dain responded, rubbing his temple. The stress from the arguing had given him a headache and his body cried out for rest.

Hackett was obviously not faring any better. The young man's eyes had circles around them, showing an equal lack of sleep, if not more. Dain knew for a fact that Hackett had spent the previous day organizing his ship and crew for the expedition. He had probably planned on getting some rest after he had completed the assignment, but seeing how the day was progressing, Dain doubted either would get any sleep at fall. "What about combining our QECs parts to send a message to Arcturus? The repairs are practically done; all we need is the few essential parts." Hackett suggested.

Dain thought over Hackett's proposal. It had its merits, although there was a significant drawback. "That would work, but the QECs limited bandwidth will force Arcturs to take hours, or days to properly unpack and search through the data completely." He snorted. "Not to mention the debate they'll have regarding their next course of action."

"Like we're doing now?" Hackett asked.

Dain chuckled lightly at the commander's attempt at humor. "Yeah, just like us." He inhaled deeply, calming his nerves. "What about sending a corvette with the data as well? That way, we can ensure Arcturus gets the data, pronto and is much more likely to reach swift resolution."

"I don't like it, Dain." Hackett said, shaking his head in hesitation. "That'll require an in-system jump, and most likely show the batarians the Relay leading out of the system. Any reinforcements the Alliance sends would lose the element of surprise."

"Perhaps," Dain acknowledged. "But I doubt an intelligent alien race would consider a world without shipyards to be humanity's home-world." He brought up a map of the system, focusing the screen on the orbiting bodies. "Plus, the Relay is obvious as it is, and I don't think the batarians managed to miss it. Like you said, they're slavers so they won't be staying here for long."

Hackett rubbed his chin. "All right, good point. But at the same time, what about the possibility of the batarians mining the Relay or deciding to follow the corvette?"

"Well they haven't moved from the planet and on the off-chance they try to tail the ship, Alliance fleets and defenses will be ready for them in multiple systems. Trust me, I don't take a gamble without accounting for all the risks." Dain stretched his shoulders, relieving the tension built over the course of the last hour. It was no substitute for sleep, but it would do in a pinch.

Hackett furrowed his brow. Dain could see the man working through the problem from multiple angles; that had been his greatest advantage when they'd competed for positions back in the Academy. Hackett looked up. "Say I agree with your idea, what happens if the enemy decides to send a few scouts to investigate our location after the messenger leaves?"

Dain rubbed the back of his neck. Truth be told, he was aware of the risk, but hadn't come up with a viable answer. "Aside from going deeper into the asteroid field, we can plant whatever explosives we have left on the derelict ships, lure the enemy ships in, and blow them to kingdom come. I know it's not the best strategy, but it's all I have."

"That's not enough," Hackett frowned. "We need to stay alive, or …" He looked at the screen showing the system, "At least some of us need to survive."

"I know," Dain responded in defeat. All in all, there just wasn't a clear way out of the shit hole they were in. "I wished something would just go our way for once."

As if to answer his prayers, Selene's avatar appeared. "I may be able to help with that."

"Selene, how long have you been there?" Dain asked. His gaze disapproved of the AI's disregard for privacy.

"Long enough," She replied. "However, I believe you'd be more interested in what the salvage teams have uncovered." Her smile seemed to draw the commanders in like moths to flame.

"Well spit it out already," Dain grunted.

"Aside from confirming what was already on the data packet we received, the teams found a manual of sorts for the enemy's communications systems. Compared to Alliance standards they're very similar in terms of function and tech, but there is a very acute difference. The lack of a QEC, for one."

"Is she always like this?" Hackett asked.

"Unfortunately," Dain said, feeling another headache coming on. "At least we now know the batarian's are a bit behind us in the communications department. That being said, though, how does this help us?"

Selene rolled her virtual eyes. "Any data sent through a QEC is untraceable and the enemy would be unable to intercept any of it. Therefore, without a QEC of their own, the batarians will be unable to send undetectable transmissions to each other unlike us. Of course, I am not sure how long it will take for Arcturus or General Williams to get the data with everything going on."

Hackett sighed. It was a sign he'd thought it through as much as possible, and had reached a conclusion. "We'll I guess we're going with your plan, Dain."

Dain gave a nod. "Selene, once we finish QEC repairs, transmit the data to Arcturus and General Williams. Also, notify the appropriate crew to prepare a corvette to leave the system shortly."

"Aye, sir. Would that be all?"

"For now, yes."

"That raises a new problem," Hackett said.

"Which is?" Dain tiredly asked. At this point he just wanted to the day to be over with.

"Who will command the corvette? We'll need a competent commander to make sure the corvette reaches its destination without alerting the enemy."

Inwardly, Dain cursed. _'How can I have forgotten such a vital detail?'_ he thought. Knowing the risks involved, he couldn't let anyone else die because of his plan. "I'll go."

Hackett didn't seem too surprised. "You know the chances of survival will be low?"

Dain sighed. "I know, but right now we don't have a choice. We need a commander who isn't a stranger to risks commanding that corvette. Besides you always were the best tactician. You're our best bet right now."

Hackett acknowledge Dain's compliment and sacrifice. "I just hope you know what you're doing commander," Hackett intoned before heading towards the exit.

"So do I," Dain whispered. Suddenly alone, he felt the massive weight and responsibility resting on his shoulders.

* * *

 **A/N:** The ground war has begun and I will like to address some issues readers may have. The JSF armor materials is mentioned in the story, but ME armor is basically made of ceramics. So with improved armor and the way ME rounds are used in canon, the JSF have a higher survivability rate. Before anyone starts a debate about which weaponry is superior let me make this comparison.

ME small arms advantages: Portability, versatility, and logistics

Human small arms advantages: Range, durability, Mass production, and higher damage threshold.

So each has its advantages its just a matter how effective they are used.

 **Trivia:**

1\. The title is a reference to the first JSF prelude to war mission, specifically guarding the Freedom IV Lifter.

2\. Shout out to MW2 with Dunn and Foley. (Trust me I know the many issues with Call of Duty, personally I prefer Battlefield, but anyone who has played the game has to love these two characters.)

3\. The Ghosts have appeared! Richard Allen and Scott Mitchell, two of the oldest characters in the universe.

4\. Halo officially exists in the universe, all hail Halo!

5\. The JSF helmet is based off the real life prototype U.S military M50 helmet, which has been referred to as a Halo ODST helmet. (Google it, I am not lying.)

6\. For those who are curious, the M268 SAW is a portable mini-gun.

7\. We see the fractures within the batarians start to spread. Where will this lead?


	8. Chapter 8 - Heroes Onboard

12-26-2156 1243 hours (Alliance standard time)

 _ **HSS Superiority**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

Ban evaluated the initial progress of the fleet, pondering its subtleties. Despite the vast distance between the massive dreadnought and the native's planet, it was easy to see the situation. He had to admit it was going smoothly; already a few hundred slaves had been captured and were awaiting pickup. His SIUs had already been deployed and were capturing or destroying the planet's numerous planetary cannons at a growing rate, allowing him to pour in additional firepower and troops planet-side. Of course such progress was to be expected from the Hegemony's best, though he couldn't say the same for the slavers. Countering Toren's debauched priorities had taken little to no effort, especially when the idiot in question decided against following basic military doctrine.

A deep grin appeared on the admiral's face as he stared at a list of Lieutenant Commander Toren's losses thus far. The incompetent buffoon had arrogantly failed to send in recon teams first, committing an entire battalion in the first wave. Not surprisingly, with no intel on the terrain, enemy opposition, or even maps of the battleground, Toren's forces had not only suffered significant casualties, they had also wasted time gathering intelligence that could've been better spent capturing key military assets. _'An idiot's move, especially at this level of conquest.'_ After such monumental displays of stupidity, how anyone could continue to follow Toren was beyond him. Still, despite the slavers' incompetence, Ban had grudgingly deployed some of his own forces alongside the fool's, both to keep an eye on the slavers and to succeed in areas where Toren's forces would no doubt fail. _'It's only a matter of time until your arrogance undoes you.'_ Ban thought.

Taking pleasure in Toren's misery, Ban slid the holo-image aside. The projector morphed slightly, showing a series of new interfaces. Unlike the lieutenant commander, Ban used whatever resources possible to learn more on the native race. What he had found astonished him. Apparently, the bi-pedal mammalian race called _humans_ were a very diverse group, having almost as many clans as the krogans. Usually it would be easy to conquer an already divided species, yet this was proving to not be the case. Information like this troubled Ban greatly; despite their differences, the humans were persistent, cooperating to drive the batarians out of their planet.

Ban marveled at the species' resolve. Even outgunned and with their world's annihilation all but certain, the humans continued to fight. However, while their determination was momentarily infuriating, it would be worthwhile in the long run once the humans were pacified and let loose on the salarians and the asari. Their impressive fortitude made them a valuable asset as fighters. Of course they would have to be properly trained and swear loyalty to the Hegemony, but Ban believed that with the right measures this could be easily implemented. Still, he was no fool; he easily realized that this race was far beyond primitive, wielding technology that would make a salarian salivate. Once these humans were integrated into the Hegemony they would have to be closely monitored.

Suddenly a blinking warning, accompanied by a buzzing alarm, replaced the data on the humans. "What is going on?" Ban asked, getting up from his chair.

"Enemy ship detected," Ib-ba replied, his hands dancing across the consoles. "Sensors indicate it to be a corvette-class vessel. It appears to be heading towards the Relay."

"Stop it at all cost!" Ban ordered.

"Deploying two corvettes and four frigates on intercept course."

Anxiety flowing through his veins, Ban watched from the screen in front of him as his ships tried to intercept the fleeing humans. A few of the slavers opened fire on the corvette, unlikely to hit it at such an extreme range, but done in the hopes of slowing it down.

The corvette was indeed forced to take evasive maneuvers, performing sharp turns and spins. Ban had to admit the tactic was a great help to his ships as they narrowed the gap. Then he saw the sensors indicate a surge of power coming from within the human ship.

"In-system jump detected!" Ib-ba shouted. The human corvette performed a daring move, risking an FTL hop inside the gravity-dense system, rapidly closing the distance to the Relay. It paid off as the ship hurled itself at the Relay, meeting the massive Prothean artifact as it powered up, propelling the ship light years beyond his sight.

"NO!" Ban shouted, slamming his fist on the railing. His crew stood in silence not in fear, but in disappointment. They had failed Ban in detecting the ship in time and consequently, preventing its escape. A deep scowl appeared on the admiral's face. "Ib-ba, where did the ship come from?"

"Tracking vectors show it came from one of the systems gas giants, the furthest one to be exact."

Now, Ban had everything he needed to confirm his earlier suspicions. This was indeed a colony world … and the ship was most likely leaving to request for aid. Suddenly, a deep smile replaced the admiral's scowl, the change bringing curiosity and worry from the crew. "Ib-ba, patch me into Toren."

Ib-ba was visibly surprised at Ban's request, but responded nonetheless. "As you wish, sir."

Ban turned on every single recording device within his reach. The situation had been a long time coming, preparing him to use this setback to his advantage. Within seconds, Toren's voice rang throughout the deck.

" _Well, Admiral Ban this certainly is the surprise. Is there a reason that you've interrupted my conquest?"_

Even Toren's arrogance wasn't enough to deter Ban's sudden good mood. He kept it well hidden as to not arouse suspicion from the slaver. "Lieutenant Commander, we have a problem. An enemy vessel has somehow managed to survive the naval battle, and has just escaped from the system."

" _What!? Why are you calling me? I am in charge of the ground assault, nothing more."_ From Toren's panicked voice, it was clear to Ban the batarian was clever enough to detect a trap, and distance himself from such a minor error.

"On the contraire, the Hegemony made it clear who was in sole command of the operation, and therefore whose orders we are to follow," Ban said. A little more prodding and Toren's ego would get the better of him. "As such, I found it obvious to confer with you on the issue."

There was a momentary pause on the online. _"And you were correct in doing so. However, this is only a trivial matter. A single corvette is no such threat to my fleet and is merely a display of what my reputation itself is capable of. Do not interrupt me further with such small matters again."_ The batarian rudely cut the link, apparently confident in his assessment. The action made Ban smile again; only fools refused to plan for the future.

"Ib-ba, it would seem Toren is not taking this matter seriously. As such I am forced to take matters into my own hands. If this planet is indeed a colony world, as intel thus far suggests, then it is most likely that corvette has left the system for reinforcements." He settled back comfortably. "If that is the case then we must act with or without Toren's support. Have some of our ships begin mining the Relay and send a scout flotilla to investigate the area where that enemy ship came from, and if it left any behind."

"Aye, sir." Ib-ba said.

With his future secured, and thereby the glory of the conquest, Ban turned off the recordings. "Ib-ba, make a few changes to my previous orders. Instead of our ships, have Toren's do the task. Ours have more important matters to intent to."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Ban steeled his hands, gazing over them at the stars cape. _'Everything is in position. All that is left now is for the pieces to fall into place.'_

* * *

 **Alliance Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

"Sir, Echo 425 is reporting that the enemy has finished setting up a forward operating base at the edge of city. We also have intel coming in from militias claiming the enemy is capturing vast amounts of civilians, mostly women and children. They are requesting further orders." Hackshaw informed.

"Tell the militias to avoid direct contact with the enemy at any cost. Setting up IEDs and mines is enough to slow them down. Order the bulk of their force to begin escorting civilians out of the city, but keep a small force to maintain visual on the enemy."

"Yes, sir."

Williams reduced the magnification of the map until it returned to an overall view of the theater of operations. The room was mostly lit by the white lights emanating from the table, causing the general's face to appear ghost-like. Within the command center, Williams had the power in his fingertips to be linked with not just his forces in the immediate vicinity, but as well as every other unit on the planet. Minor static hampered connection over long distances, but he didn't worry about that. While he _could_ give orders to any and every unit, it didn't mean he _would_. He had trust in the other faction's commanders, who were doing their duties with immense honor and valor.

He idly altered the focus, stared at the holographic image of New Denver, a city sprawling with skyscrapers and suburban developments. A true diamond in a sea of silver. But it appeared as if it was being corroded, the enemy slowly weathering the diamond's beauty as they began their push into the city. There was an old army saying constructed in the 20th century, _"In the field, armies are commanded by their generals, in cities they are commanded by their sergeants."_ That saying would be tested to the fullest in the upcoming battle. Aside from the brief firefights that had already begun, the main bloodbath would occur once the aliens reached the space sport. It would be the signal for every soldier within the city to attack. Williams had already come up with an overall strategy to hold the city and had given unit commanders the liberty to … adapt to the situation as they saw fit. He'd given engagement orders, but now the fate of the city was in the hands of his commanders, both Alliance and sovereign.

Currently, Williams didn't have reliable intel on the enemy's effectiveness in urban warfare, but based upon preliminary reports, they were inexperienced. The enemy had brought an army into the city, deploying them in the outskirts and beginning to move inward. Armies died in cities though … and mankind was an expert in killing in them. Monterrey, Stalingrad, Hue, Sarajevo, Mogadishu, the list of infamous and bloody urban battles in human history was a long one. Humanity had learned how ruthless and bloody urban warfare could be where only the most tenacious warrior survived. The enemy was about to learn the same lesson the hard way.

After a few dozen shuttles and aircraft were shot down by AA fire, the aliens had deployed the majority of their force in the outskirts and were beginning to move inward through all viable routes. Williams had planned for this; having deployed platoons of combat engineers to areas already evacuated and were awaiting orders to detonate charges they had set up. This would have the effect of artificially sealing off certain routes, causing the enemy to advance through passages of his choosing, passages that were heavily guarded by Alliance marines and Enforcers.

Regrettably, there wasn't much else that could be done to prepare for the coming onslaught. Not to say that there was nothing that _could_ be done, far from it. But it was just impossible to be fully prepared for an invasion, one being conducted by aliens no less; in the small time span they were given. All that was left beyond setting up defensive positions, evacuating civilians as fast as possible, and stockpiling every bit of ammunition and supplies, was to let events play out and try his best to make sure the outcome unfolded in his favor.

As a soldier, Williams knew what to expect when the enemy began landing five divisions. As a military general, he knew he'd done everything he could to prepare for the siege. But as a father, he easily realized he hadn't done nearly enough. After ordering Colonel Matthews to evacuate to a top secret bunker, along with other high ranking officials, Williams had deployed his men and remained behind to lead them. His Marines were stationed in the capital, along with three Enforcer battlegroups. Other units were scattered across the colony, guarding, fighting, bleeding, and dying for every inch of land.

In total, the Alliance defenders numbered at around 40,000 soldiers with an additional 15,000 Enforcers all dug in throughout the city. The majority of the Alliance marines were positioned around power plants, hospitals, and other similarly important structures. The Enforcers were placed with their specialty in mind. Battlegroup 387, a highly versatile group of airmobile units specializing in combat against high value targets, was currently defending Dubar Command, a nerve center for the city's uplinks. Hundreds of civilians had made their way there, believing it safe from the invaders. Their arrival had complicated matters, forcing Williams to send a Marine armored company to evacuate them. Another resource, Battlegroup 90, was a command battlegroup, supported by exceptional artillery. Williams decided to place them in the rear of the battle, having them relay any intel gathered on the enemy to other forces and to provide fire support as well. Battlegroup 103, was an armored battalion, and as a result was stationed near a nexus of streets and roads that allowed them to engage the enemy in numerous locations. They would be vital in keeping the enemy's armor off of the rest of his forces.

Above New Denver, human and alien pilots clashed for dominance of the sky. With the city's anti-air batteries online, the Alliance retained control, but only just. The enemy's inexhaustible numbers were beginning to wear down the Slamhounds and Tridents struggling to keep them at bay. Already there were gaps in Williams' air cover that the enemy had taken advantage of, deploying advanced vanguard teams. He countered with artillery strikes, rendering the enemy's vanguard combat ineffective. It was a canny move, depriving the aliens of the opportunity to gather intelligence on the city; Williams had essentially forced the enemy to advance blind.

The weather did nothing to help the general either, plaguing the city with a massive tropical storm. Electronics were experiencing minor interference as a result and any long-range communications he had with his forces was patchy at best. He wished the Alliance had the capacity to deploy a QEC with every soldier. Only then would Mother Nature be prevented from affecting human decisions. The only positives the storm had was that it prevented the enemy from outright decimating the city from orbit. The initial wave of enemy soldiers was also experiencing trouble mobilizing their troops, the heavy rain and storm creating a nightmare for their logistics as well. Alliance recon teams took advantage, gathering what little intelligence they could on the aliens.

Tapping commands on the console, Williams brought up an image of a new display. It was a projection of an enemy corvette had taken residence near the battlefield. He had been hearing the enemy had been deploying them to great effect over heavy populated areas. Their small size combined with their light weaponry made corvettes perfect for providing heavy fire support. However, Williams had a plan to neutralize the threat. One so daring, so bold the enemy wouldn't even see it coming.

"Commander Hower, this is General Williams, do you copy?"

" _Aye, sir. ETA on target is six minutes. The pilots are experiencing turbulence in the shuttles' controls, but they'll get us there in one piece."_

"Good. Just make sure you get your asses out of there as soon as your objective is accomplished."

" _Hear you loud and clear, sir. Over and out."_

As soon as the transmission ended, Williams felt like laughing to himself. Who was he kidding? He had practically just sent all those N7 Marines on a suicide mission. Of course they didn't see it as such; to them it was just another day at the office. Hopefully their sacrifice would not be in vain. As Williams scrolled through numerous incoming reports he came across a few detailing the combat readiness of his forces. The morale reports from most units were mixed, some held grim acceptance, others were eager and bloodthirsty, but the majority were still shocked at the events still transpiring.

He understood that humanity had never really thought that there could be anything out there that could threaten them. Up until this morning, they were right. But now there was something tangible, something bigger than them, something whose differences couldn't be defined by lines on a map, skin color, or religious creed. No, now there was something that was truly _alien_ in every sense of the word forcing them to stand united or fall divided.

"General?" Hacksaw questioned softly, seeing the general in full concentration.

"Yes?" Williams replied, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Sensors indicate enemy troops have begun moving into the city."

Returning to the original display, Williams looked down at the map table and its holographic representation of the capital. As predicted, enemy forces were moving en masse, under heavy guard by their gunships and tanks towards the spaceport. The general allowed a grim smile to appear on his face. His combat engineers had prepped the facility with a few surprises.

"Good, let's give these aliens their first big surprise," Williams said, resting his hands on the map table and watching the red colored blocks descend upon the spaceport like ants.

* * *

 **Batarian Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

Across the city, Colonel Garak was watching a similar display. This version was in two dimensions rather than in three, but displayed the same information. The colonel commanded the Batarian External Forces, the elite shock troopers of the Hegemony. They were fierce and dedicated; their track record for successful missions combined with a fearsome reputation for brutal efficiency made them obvious candidates for capturing what appeared to be the planet's capital. The raging storm affected his sensors and communications somewhat, but Garak still had a rough estimate of what was going on. Unfortunately, it also prevented him from landing additional troops to assist the first few companies of slavers he'd sent to capture the spaceport. Lucky for them, one of their own corvettes was standing by and would be happy to assist if they needed additional support, assuming the ship's crew was smart enough to keep its distance away from the enemy's AA guns. His face developed a deep scowl. Garak didn't trust the slavers one bit, which was why he'd sent them first into the city. His own forces weren't far behind the slavers, but enough to avoid any clashes between the two groups.

As Garak returned his attention to the screen, he stared intently at one location in particular: the capital's spaceport. Once the slavers seized the critical location, Garak would have the perfect staging area for his troops. Aside from the strange power plants the natives constructed to power their infrastructure, the world's spaceport was single-handily the most vital asset in the battle. Thus it was to the colonel's confusion when recon teams reported the structure to be unguarded. His instincts were signaling him to be cautious, that something was clearly wrong.

"Colonel, the first wave of slavers is securing the spaceport and any vital assets nearby," Gonu reported. "That is assuming they're competent enough to properly do their jobs."

"Good. Ready the artillery. We may have to use it." Garak ordered, ignoring the officer's more … liberal words.

"HA! Now this race gets to see the might of the Hegemony first hand!"

' _Just what is this race doing?'_ Garak questioned.

Not a second later, he received an answer. The Spacesport spontaneously erupted like a volcano, spewing flames and ash in every direction. Everyone and everything within two hundred meters of the station was vaporized in a spectacular explosion that seemed to wake the city. Within seconds, reports were coming in from nearly every slaver unit on the frontlines that they were encountering heavy resistance. He watched as numerous routes and lanes suddenly detonated, clogging the roads with debris.

Colonel Garak was both shocked and pleased. He realized the massive setback losing the city's Spaceport was and chastised himself for not properly checking it. However, the loss of a few slavers was not a large concern for him. Still, the enemy had struck first with incredible ingenuity. His respect for his opponent grew, realizing they didn't have enough troops to secure it, the enemy had decided to destroy the asset along with as many combatants as possible. It was a risky tactic, but one that had paid off. The sealing of countless paths across the city was also ingenious, limiting his options and forcing him to move through only a few sections. The remaining routes were far and few in between with terrain that favored any defenders. He suspected this was where the majority of the enemy's forces were hidden. Overall, the enemy's commander opening moves were impressive, both in thought and in execution. Now it was time for a counter-move.

"Colonel…orders?"

Garak eyed in the general direction the question had come from before returning his attention to the screen. He soaked the layout of the battlefield, deciding the next appropriate move to take. Finally making his decision, he addressed his subordinate.

"Have the corvette approach the city as close as it can and deploy probes followed by a salvo on enemy positions. As for the infantry, order our troops to capture power-plants, communication hubs, and engage in a defensive manner."

"What!? But sir, you have the advantage in numbers and strength. You should wipe out the vermin with absolute force." Gonu argued. Garak decided against offending one of Ban's most trusted officers, believing it unwise for his personal health.

"The slavers will engage the bulk of the enemy. Once the humans waste their supplies and ammunition on the slavers, we'll attack with our full might once they're worn down and capture the city with only minimal losses."

"Ah…I see. Yes, that is a strategy beneficial to our cause." Gonu said with some respect in his words. "I assume you'll want our artillery to begin conducting strikes on the city's transportation systems?"

"Of course. Once we corral our prey it will be easy to sub-due them." Garak answered. His smile was not the most terrifying, but it was one of a dangerous man.

* * *

 **Alliance Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

General Williams smiled. The enemy had walked right into his trap. The Spaceport had been packed with explosives in service passages and the reactor had been rigged to detonate. It was both a spectacular ambush and an expensive sacrifice, but it deprived the enemy a vital staging area as well as refueling source. Dozens of enemy squads had also been lost in the explosion, and those that remained were disoriented.

Williams nodded. The first move had been his and the enemy had received a potent message, Humanity Would…Not…Surrender! He checked the dispositions of his forces at the mercy of the enemy corvette and knew his second blow would have to come soon or else everything would be for naught.

Suddenly, Vianna appeared over the tac-screen. "Sir, I have received a high-priority message that you would want to see."

"What is it, Vianna?"

The AI brought up a message. Williams couldn't understand the message well underneath the static and encryption, but the sender ID was enough to shock him into silence. The sender's ID was marked as… the _SSV Tampa_.

"This…this is-" Williams tried to say, but couldn't get out.

"Interesting? Yes I know. The message was sent merely twenty minutes ago. I've only managed to decode the ID, but I'm more concerned with the larger implications…"

"Why would they send the message … and are remnants of the allied fleet still in the area?"

"Precisely," Vianna said with hint of excitement before her face developed a frown. "Unfortunately with all the radio traffic, servers tasked to capacity, and connection interferences it will take time for me to decode the message."

"Right now top priority is cleaning that message up. Whatever its contents it must be vital for anyone to risk sending it."

"Aye, sir."

" _Just what the hell is going on?"_ Williams thought as he tried unraveling the mystery.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **N7 Strike Force, Alpha Squad**

The six Kodiak shuttles, carrying sixty highly trained soldiers and accompanied by a Stinger escort, soared in a tight, V-like formation as they neared their target. The timing of their attack was essential, a moment too soon and the troopers would miss their target. A moment too late and there wouldn't be a city left to safe. While the enemy vessel hovered at _barely_ skyscraper height it was vulnerable to a boarding party ... theoretically. Under the dense cloud cover and the raging storm, the Kodiaks and Stingers were able to approach the corvette with disguised heat signatures. As an additional precaution, the flight soared at extremely high altitudes in between the atmosphere and stratosphere, a vehicular version of the time-honored HALO drop.

Inside the lead shuttle, the N7 complement readied their gear, preparing for the assault. The basic variant of the N7 armor fit Anderson like a second skin. In fact he would have felt naked without it. Composed of three layers of protection to maximize a soldier's survivability, the N7 armor did its job with providing the best protection for the Alliance's best troopers. The outermost-layer contained shield emitters that served as the first line of defense. Objects traveling above a certain speed would continuously be repelled by the shields until the armor's power cells lost too much energy, causing the shield to collapse. The armor's middle layer was composed of non-porous ballistic cloth with light weight composite ceramic plating that served as the 'traditional' body armor. Aside from the joints, every body part was covered with this material, leaving only narrow openings in the suit. The last line of defense in the armor was a micro-frame computer in the combat hard suit responsible for dispensing medi-gel to any wound or injury in the body. While most soldiers complained about the oozy-liquid running through their bodies, Anderson was rather grateful for it since such safety measures could be the difference between life and death. In fact since its implementation, the micro-computers alone have dropped fatalities by a significant margin. This hardware, combined with the newly created N7 Breather Helmet, turned a dangerous soldier into something deadly.

Anderson had made a habit out of examining every component in his gear, making sure each facet was operating at peak capacity. His fully loaded M-7 Lancer was expanded to full length while his M-3 Predator and M-25 Katana were secured via magnetic locks in the back of his armor. He nodded in satisfaction. The mind-set behind his load-out was flexibility. Anderson believed in being ready for any situation and he just might have to on the upcoming mission.

He glanced at his team members, who were equipped in a much different fashion. Commander Hower's load-out was similar to his, the difference substituting a M-97 Viper and M-12 Locust for the shotgun and heavy pistol. Frost, being an Infiltrator, was equipped with an M-99 Saber marksman rifle and a N7 Valiant sniper rifle, set with the holdout Predator pistol in his holster. His selection of armor differed from Hower's and Anderson's, choosing to take the Hahne-Kedar N7 armor variant with a Delumcore Overlay headpiece. Anderson acknowledged the advantage of having a weapon's damaged increased, but found it foolish to willingly sacrifice spare heat sinks for it.

By comparison, Velasquez, the squad's engineer, packed a Capacitor helmet with the Kassa Fabrication armor to increase her shield's strength and recharge speed. She held a Lancer with pride, lodging an N7 Crusader shotgun and N7 Hurricane locked to her back. Although he puzzled over the selection from time to time, Anderson was still unaware if her choice in weapons was symbolic or made with practically in mind.

Anderson's eyes wandered to the second N7 team on board the Kodiak shuttle with them. Their vanguard was a nasty woman by the name of Stenzke. The sergeant took pride in psychologically scarring the enemy and her load-out mirrored her state of mind. She packed a Typhoon light machine gun, N7 Valkyarie grenade launcher, and a Hurricane sub-machine gun. Her N7 Defender armor allowed her to both absorb and dish out additional damage. Anderson made a mental note to maintain a more withdrawn position with her during a firefight.

Sitting next to her was a rather quiet individual, an Asian with a Slavic accent. Sergeant Ryu, as his squad called him, was an excellent sniper. His weapon of choice intrigued Anderson as the sniper carried an M-96 Mattock heavy rifle and Black Widow sniper rifle. The standard Predator was holstered at his side, yet Anderson was dumbfounded at the combination of aged and modern weaponry. A recon hood covered the sniper's face as a basic N7 armor covered his body. Adding to the unusual structure of the squad, their adept, Lieutenant Bellec was very chatty. Compared to the two other reserved members, it seemed as if Bellec didn't belong in the squad. The adept had taken the Rosenkov Material's armor with Umbra visor. He carried the basic load-out with the exception of carrying a Locust than a Predator.

"A unique team isn't it," the squad's leader said.

Anderson turned his head to the right to face an old friend, a man slightly older by a couple of years. He carried the same armor as Anderson with a different selection in firearms; An N7 Piranha and Valiant were locked to the man's back while a Lancer rested on his legs. Anderson couldn't help, but have a smile appear on his face. "Shepard, you are probably the only one crazy enough to command such a squad."

"Well you know me, like to spice things up a bit."

"Uh-huh. Just remember who the enemy is." Anderson responded.

"Let's see, uh aliens with four eyes that are extremely ugly. Don't worry even I won't mistake them for you. And when did you start calling me by my last name? I may be a lieutenant commander, but that doesn't give you an excuse to go all _formal_ on me."

"Well then, I am glad to see you are still alive Alex."

"You too David. Say after we save the planet, how about we grab a beer if there's a bar still left standing?"

"I'd say hell yes."

The two friends enjoyed the banter, having gone through thick and thin in numerous ops. Of course, that had been before they were assigned to different units. It pained Anderson that he only got to see his friend during a war and wished the circumstances were better…much, much better.

"Alright people, we're approaching the target. ETA ninety seconds. Get ready!" Hower barked, getting up from his seat. The shuttle's lights turned yellow, verifying Hower's statement.

All eight N7 Marines stood up straight, the wings in their suits dragging slightly. Courtesy of the Alliance airborne, these wings were normally reserved for massive Ariel deployments, but given the circumstances Williams believed they would still be put to good use. The squad members made sure to keep the respectable distance from each other to avoid any mishaps.

Anderson saw Shepard holding out his picture, levity gone from his face. Stepping closer, Anderson saw the two Shepard's in it, Alex and his son, John. "Hey, don't worry about it. You'll be back by his first birthday. Just concentrate on the job and you'll be fine. Next thing you know you'll be carrying him in your arms."

The reassurance did little to improve Shepard's mood as he stared at the only piece of family he had left. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Before Anderson could turn his attention back to the shuttle's doors, he felt a responding hand on his soldier. "David, if anything happens to me make - make sure my son is taken care of, all alright?"

" _If_ anything does happen to you, I'll take care of John as if he was my own boy." Anderson replied, and then stared deeply into his friend's eyes. "But you and I both know you're not going to escape parenthood that easily." Anderson replied.

The tactic worked, bringing a grin to the older man's face. "Ha! With _that_ I can agree."

The conversation between the two friends quickly ended once they received an update on the mission. "Commander, receiving data update from VI." The pilot yelled. "Small squadron of enemy fighters is exiting the corvette's bays."

"Have they detected us?" Hower asked.

"Unlikely." The pilot squinted at his screens. "It looks like the ship is reorienting itself to target allied positions on the ground; its engines appear to be vulnerable. Stinger escort is requesting permission to engage."

"Send them in. If it can't move, it'll make everyone's job easier."

"Affirmative."

Off to one side, Hower snapped his helmet in place as the cockpit was sealed and the passenger hull decompressed. "This is it folks. Get ready!" Diving to a distance of a few hundred meters, the Kodiaks' thrusters ignited to full power. The N7 troopers readied their weapons as the side hatches descended, giving the occupants a good view of the battle and their target.

' _There it is.'_ Anderson thought at he gazed upon the ship. The enemy corvette seemed to stand in place as it showed the characteristically harsh lines of the enemy ships. It was around two hundred meters in length, slightly smaller than Alliance variants, but its size was nothing to laugh at.

The ship itself seemed to be reacting slowly to the attack. Anderson assumed the ship's officers didn't believe that the Alliance would assault it with such a small force. _'How wrong they were.'_ He though.

Behind it, the Stingers surged forward making strafing runs on the ship's engines. Their electronic countermeasures prevented the ship from calling additional reinforcements. With their communications momentarily offline, the once overpowering enemy corvette suddenly became vulnerable prey. With haste, its fighters scrambled out of the corvette's hangars and engaged the human aircraft.

The fierce cracks of thunder and lightning drowned out almost every noise. It provided an ominous feeling in the shuttles as the occupants were about to jump into the belly of the beast.

"Green light! Green light! Green light! Hit them hard N7!" Hower bellowed, his voice sounding louder than the raging storm.

The N7 troopers leaped off the Kodiak, jumping into the jaws of death. Other Kodiaks began to drop their complement as well, saturating the airspace around the ship with N7 marines. The area was chaotic as allied and enemy aircraft dueled for dominance. Anderson saw two Stingers surged forward making strafing runs on the ship, blasting a hole through the ship big enough for the N7s to glide in through.

" _There's our opening! All units descend upon the breach!"_ Hower yelled over the com. The N7s complied, closing ranks as they neared their target.

The aliens, however weren't about to simply allow the N7s to board. The corvette's defense turrets began firing upon the strike force, but it was too little too late. A Stinger pilot turned her aircraft around and opened fire on the turrets. A small barrage of 30mm auto-cannon fire and Interceptor missiles blew the few turrets on top of the ship to pieces, clearing the way for the strike force. Nothing was going to stop their boarding action. After nearly ten seconds, the N7 strike force soared through the corvette and soon landed to what appeared to be a top hangar filled…with many…many angry enemy soldiers.

Immediately, mass accelerator slugs erupted from both sides, infesting the hanger with rifle rounds and concussion shots. "Hard Contact! Weapons free!" Hower shouted. The N7 strike force took cover behind whatever they could as they engaged the enemy. Anderson fired a few shots from his Lancer, each round landing in a tight cluster on his target's body. A flow of blood squirted from the enemy soldier as he writhed in pain, clutching the wound. He repeated the process on other targets, each one of them meeting the same end. No enemy reinforcements came as they were still too stunned at the insane action that was occurring on their ship; however, Anderson knew that couldn't last for much longer.

The hangar violently shook as another massive explosion tore through the outside of the ship, peeling off even more armor as debris fell everywhere. Giant holes, caused by Stingers in their strafing runs, provided a window, letting in bursts of heavy rain as lightning flashed in the storm. Everything inside just screamed of chaos and destruction. It was appropriate, all things considered.

" _Stinger escort to strike team. We're suffering major damages. Additional enemy aircraft is approaching and we're heavily outnumbered as it is."_

"Roger that. Disengage and fall back." Hower ordered amidst the firefight.

" _Copy. Disengaging and pulling out. Good luck strike team."_

"We're N7, we don't need luck." Hower growled in reply. He turned to address his strike force even as mass accelerator slugs whizzed by his head. "You all heard the transmission so I don't have to repeat myself, but now we're in deep with no cover. This is what we signed up for, so let's make sure we give these aliens an Alliance welcome!" The short speech had a great affect in improving the gusto in the soldiers even as they were left to fend from themselves. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, the N7s had become exponentially more dangerous.

Anderson took cover behind a destroyed enemy fighter as he engaged the hostiles with his Lancer. A sudden explosion from a frag grenade snuffed out two enemy biotics as a sniper round killed a third. He cranked his head to the right to see Frost reloading his Valiant.

"They're far too close for my comfort!" Frost said as he threw an Incinerate attack. It managed to keep a couple of troopers back. The Disruptor setting on his sniper rifle helped collapse a few shields and it helped the N7 greatly.

Still the snipers placed on the catwalks above were detrimental to the strike force's advance, managing to kill one unlucky soldier. The N7 countered with a salvo of Cobra missiles, brining the whole structure tumbling down. An unfortunate enemy sniper managed to get himself impaled on a protruding metal beam.

In the center of the maelstrom, the assault element of Alpha prepared to move forward in complete defiance of the enemy's firepower. They weaved through the shattered wreckages like greats lions on the prowl. Behind Alpha, Charlie and Delta squads rolled out, adding suppressive fire with their Typhoons and Lancers. The steady stream of heavy fire raged over the N7's assault as the strike force charged forward. Down by over twelve men, the remaining fifty enemy soldiers retreated using biotic and tech attacks to cover their withdrawal.

"Push forward! Move!" Hower shouted. Concentrating fire, the N7s urgently advanced. They were quick, methodical, and efficient, but they were far from reckless. The N7's carved a path of righteous fury like a steel knife, bulldozing through the defenders, quickly obliterating the opposition.

Anderson knew they had to capture the bridge and engineering, the heart and mind of the ship. The first few platforms in their vicinity fell quickly and soon the boarders began consolidating their positions. Now fully aware of the boarding party, the enemy would no doubt send a response team numbering in the hundreds…and that would be problematic.

Hastily, defense turrets were placed, directing lines of fire right down the closest corridors already secured; a time delay of a few scant seconds was set up, and preparations were done. Just in time. As soon as the enemy response team arrived, they were met with over a thousand rounds per minute from multiple turrets. Whole squads were wiped out in seconds with some of the smarter ones advancing behind strong barriers, but they too were quickly dispatched.

"Let's fry these four eyes!" Stenzke hollered, unleashing another shockwave. The attack proved deadly in the narrow corridor, killing any enemy not in cover. Just as she was about to charge through the enemy ranks, Shepard intervened.

"Keep your skirt on! Let them come. We'll cut the enemy's numbers here and advanced when they're weakened."

"Killjoy!" Stenzke retorted, spraying the enemy with fire from her Typhoon.

The higher rate of fire from the N7s' weapons and turrets allowed them to engage larger waves of enemies, whose slower firing rifles were horrible at suppressing, even when used in large quantities. The defense turrets however, could not sustain the constant rate of fire as they began to overheat. One of them fell to a newly arrived pair of an enemy rocket squad as the N7 engineers tried in desperation to keep the others online. With the small gape of breathing room and under the cover of their rockets, the enemy took the opportunity to push several mobile shield generators to make their advance easier. As they neared, the enemy began to toss grenades, allowing frag and inferno grenades to take a toll on the N7s.

Their advance quickly ended as Stenzke equipped her Valkyrie. With every clip fired, six 30mm grenades, each with the equivalent kinetic energy of a 60mm sniper round, tore right through any shields with the first few hitting and splattering chunks against the bulkheads. Soon, the battle became a tug-a-war between the enemy rocket troopers and N7's heavy troopers. The storm of exploding tungsten quickly forced rifleman from both sides to take cover, courtesy of consoles and railings to avoid being chewed away. With the heavy soldiers in a deadlock, pinning down the lighter units, the fate of the battle switched into the hands of the snipers. The slower firing, higher damage Black Widows and N7 Valiant's went toe to toe with the enemy's unconventional Harpoon sniper and fully automatic sniper rifle, nicknamed the Incisor by the N7s for the weapon's serrated rounds.

Missiles roared over consoles and slammed into the ship's support beams. The armor piercing rounds being used by the N7s managed to punch through the outer layer of armor the aliens were wearing, the rounds bursting just outside their flesh and ripping apart muscle tissue. Gaping holes began appearing all over the corridor as the ablative armor took too much strain from the heavy firepower brought forth by both sides. A few enemy troopers attempted to flee, only to be gunned down by the roaring machineguns and assault rifles of the Alliance marines.

 _BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_ Thundered through the ship as it rocked violently, throwing everyone on the top hanger off their feet. Both sides were completely stunned as they were caught unaware and had no idea what was going on.

"What the hell was that!?" Frost shouted as he got back to his feet. Others attempted to do the same with the biotics and tech specialists on both sides trying to keep their opposing foes suppressed.

" _Commander Hower, this is Williams. That corvette just opened fire with a salvo of torpedoes and took out an entire block! We cannot let that ship fire on evac convoys. Stop them at any cost!"_ Williams' voice echoed over the comm. channel.

"Yes, sir!" Hower turned to the rest of the N7. Even behind the mask, one could tell that the commander's facial expression was grim. "We don't have much time until this ship decides to flatten the entire city. So we need to double time it." Leaning out of cover, Hower grabbed a Cobra missiles launcher off of a dead N7 and fired multiple missiles at the remaining enemy troopers, knocking them back with the blasts. "Stenzke hit them with a shockwave, Bellec incinerate!" The two N7s followed the command, creating a deadly combination of biotic and tech powers. The shockwave blew the enemy back gain, just beginning to get up only for an incinerate attack to melt through two unlucky soldiers' armor. "Frost, finish them off!" What few soldiers managed to survive were immediately cut down by the Infiltrator's sniper.

"Hallway clear!" Shepard shouted, ejecting a thermal clip from his rifle.

"Move up, one squad at a time!" Hower ordered. The strike force proceeded to continue down the hallway, only to come to two separate paths; a corridor that lead deeper into the ship and a set of stairs leading downwards.

"Sir, if we split up we can cover more ground." Shepard suggested.

Given the urgency of the mission, Hower was inclined to agree. "That sounds good. Squads Charlie, Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot advance forward while Alpha and Beta head down stairs." A series of affirmatives were heard as thirty N7 marines continued down the corridor while Hower lead another twelve down the set of stairs. "It's a tight fit people; give your selves some elbow room." He said.

Anderson took point, guiding the rest of the men into the unknown. As he reached the final steps, which were connected to a medium sized hallway, the environment became strangely quiet. At the end of the hallway was a door; while on the sides were discarded power tools and maintenance equipment. One the sides held a series of escape pods, something of which Anderson made a mental note, in case they needed a quick exfil. The team cautiously advanced to the door, one squad stacked on the sides while the other provided over-watch.

"Squad one ready."

Anderson slid closer to the door, ready to kill anything that was on the other side. He placed the charge on the door before retaking his previous position. He could hear his own heart racing in the quiet environment, a reminder of the anxiety he felt. Even for a high-skilled soldier, breaching a door was still considered one of the most nerve-wrecking maneuvers.

"Squad two ready."

"Blow it." Hower gave the command and Anderson followed.

A heavy load of ordnance came whizzing out of the room the moment Anderson detonated the charge. He threw a smoke grenade to give the breaching team some cover, but vapor gas did little to stop incoming bullets. The N7 marines became momentarily pinned down, however that quickly changed with one simple order.

"Stenzke, repulse field now!" Shepard shouted.

The N7 Vanguard ran out into the oncoming fire, surprising not just her teammates but the hostiles as well. Anderson believed she had completely lost her mind. In a stunning move, Stenzke conjured up a strange silver-colored field in the shape of an octagon. Anderson was shocked to find that not only did the field stop the enemy's incoming fire, but actually managed to suspend it in mid-air. He didn't even want to even guess how much time had been spent researching the magnetic properties for _that_ particular trick.

The strange event didn't stop the enemy from firing on the N7s, futile though it was. Anderson could see that maintaining the field was putting immense strain on Stenzke's body. He briefly wondered if she had any L2 implants, but quickly dismissed the idea. L2 implants were never able to get out of the design phase as they were too unpredictable. While they allowed biotics to be able to use their abilities to a greater degree, the multiple horrific side-effects had relegated them too dangerous for field usage. Still, Stenzke's biotic prowess was far stronger than any he'd seen before.

"Sergeant, give them hell." Shepard ordered. Already Stenzke's field had hundreds of rounds suspended in mid-air and Anderson could predict what was coming next. Stenzke pulled her arms pack and placed her right leg forward for support. In an instant, a grimace telling how much strength was needed for the maneuver, Stenzke pushed her arms forward, sending the large ordnance her field had gathered back to their former owners.

The enemy seemed unaware of Stenzke's strange ability, hell Anderson himself was a bit, and were inadequately prepared for the incoming storm. The barrage killed off dozens of enemy soldiers, wounding many more and shattering any chance of a proper defense. The rest of the N7s joined the attack more conventionally, using their own weapons. With twenty five troopers remaining, the enemy retained numerical advantage … but matched against twelve N7s' superior skill, the enemy's advantage was not enough to win the firefight.

With little left to lose, the enemy soldiers fired, threw, and wielded whatever weapons they could. They were easily cut down with little effort. One N7 near Anderson was shot through the abdomen. He tried to pull the marine into cover, firing his Lancer with one hand inaccurately to at least dissuade the enemy from firing on him. The enemy perceived Anderson too good a target to pass up as two support gunners trained their sights on him. The burdened Anderson was unprepared as incoming fire from two light machine guns slammed into him. His shield immediately collapsed under the strain with fragments of his armor being torn apart. A few of the rounds managed to hit the wounded marine in the neck, killing him instantly.

"Covering fire!" Shepard yelled, seeing his friend in a vulnerable position. He fired a concussive shot at the support gunners while Bellec created a barrier around Anderson. Stenzke was still recovering from her previous attack, switching to her Valkerie for suppressive fire. Velasquez assisted the Vanguard with more accurate shots from her Lancer. This had the immediate effect of driving the enemy soldiers back into cover. As this was going on, Ryu and Frost were flanking the enemy using the chaos to move undetected. Once they were in a better position they fired their sniper rifles in rapid succession with deadly results. In less than a minute all the enemy troopers were either killed or too wounded too fight.

The cries of the wounded aliens were ignored as the N7 team took into account their own losses. One killed in action with three wounded, but with some medi-gel they were back in fighting shape. Overall, casualties were extremely light.

"Team one, this is team two. We've secured what appears to be the maintenance deck, what is your status over?" Hower asked.

" _This is team two,"_ A voice said over the comm. Gunfire, explosions, and the barking of orders could be easily heard over the radio. _'We're experiencing heavy resistance in the communications deck. A good portion of the ship's terminals have been destroyed, but we'll salvage what we can. Shit…nearly caught a bullet on that one. Team two over and out."_

"Well it seems they're having fun," Stenzke commented, already beginning to get her energy back. "Where to now?"

"Well if this maintenance, then the engineering deck should be below us." Shepard stated. As a marine he had sufficient knowledge on the overall design model for any naval vessel.

"That is assuming these four eyes have the same model layout as our ships," Anderson grunted, bringing to light the massive caveat. "For all we know their engineering deck could be placed at the rear of the ship." There was some agreement with Anderson's words. With a lack of proper knowledge on the enemy ship's layout, the N7 team was moving blind. Its exterior was completely alien to those of the Alliance so it wasn't wrong to assume the interior of the ship would differ drastically from a human vessel.

"We don't have a choice," Hower interjected. "This is all we have to go one. I share your thoughts lieutenant, but right now an entire city is counting on us and we can't fail them. Alpha and beta squads, prepare a charge and-" Before he could finish, the entire ship shook again this time with much more force. That wasn't all as the ship appeared to go into a dive, knocking everyone off of their feet. "Shit! Everyone get back up!" The commander had much reason to fear.

" _Commander Hower!"_ General Williams sounded hysterical, which only furthered worried the commander. " _The corvette has just fired its main cannon and is on a collision course with the city! The mission is aborted, get the hell out of there! Enemy aircraft is heading your way and they don't appear to be interested in a refueling run!"_

Hower cursed. He quickly got on the radio and issued an emergency transmission "Everyone get topside now!" No one opposed as the team tried to get quickly get out of the room. Suddenly, the side of the ship exploded, causing the ship to become even more unstable. A sudden hole was blasted wide open rimmed with melted edges of the ship's hull still glowing. The team was thrown like rag doll, tumbling everywhere.

A tortured scream of bending metal overloaded Anderson's senses, the world around him lurching with such force that he nearly lost awareness. His vision nearly went white and was about to lose consciousness before a hand grabbed his arm and hoisted him up to his feet. Groggy, Anderson tried to see who it was before his vision cleared enough to give him a clear picture of Shepard's breather helmet staring at him. "On your feet Anderson! WE ARE LEAVING!"

Brought back to reality, Anderson quickly followed the team as they tried to make a run for it. They desperately dashed through the room, avoiding falling debris.

"Fucking four eyes!" Stenzke cursed, feeling deep resentment for the enemy. "So goddamn stupid! They'll kill themselves just to get a couple mother—" her eloquence proved itself in a colorful diatribe, weaving an exquisite verbal tapestry.

"Stow it, Stenzke. Focus on getting out of here alive!" Shepard yelled. The team quickly made their way to the escape pods, the circular opening giving a hiss as it was forcibly unlocked by Bellec. The majority of the team quickly filed into the pods, before the command codes were given for launch.

Anderson was about to step into one when a sizeable enemy platoon arrived from the set of stairs the N7 team had used earlier. Obviously they had the same intention to live and weren't about to easily let the N7 team take the once chance they had at survival. Quickly Anderson squeezed off two quick single shots, rounds cracking through the air. What few N7s remained onboard the ship also opened fire; the staggered barrage of fire caught several of the exposed enemies with little effort. One unfortunate alien had a round passed where the lung should be while another was completely decapitated from the force of a sniper rifle. Blood leaked spilled onto the ground, staining the once cleaned floors of the ships.

It seemed the N7s were about to win yet another firefight until more hostile forces showed up, this wave carrying much heavier ordnance.

"Quickly get into the pods!" Bellec yelled over the raging firefight. No matter how skilled the N7s might be, they couldn't contend with the heavier firepower in the close corridors, but the moment two enemy rocket squads appeared every Alliance soldier knew their odds of survival suddenly decreased.

Before Anderson could aim his Lancer on the new arrivals, an enemy fired a rocket, sending it flying towards directly at him. Somehow time itself seemed to slow down while the chaos around the corridor disappeared.

' _This is it.'_ Anderson thought as he stared directly at his grim reaper, his life flashing before his eyes. He had been a good soldier, given all he ever could to his country, government, and even race. Anderson felt no regrets, completely satisfied the way he had lived and how it was about to end, but fate had other plans. Before the rocket connected with its intended target, Anderson felt a huge force pushing him to the right, the rocket missing him by an inch. It exploded a few feet from him, nearly blinding his vision and shoving him back with immense force. He impacted the ground hard with his breathe literally being kicked out of him. He felt his shoulders dislocate, forcefully being pushed away from his body by the dizzying impact. With what little perception he had, Anderson could see a barrier field being enveloped around him before he felt someone grabbing his armor's straps and began dragging him into a pod. Anderson cracked his head upwards, feeling immense pain in his neck as he did so, to see Bellec maintaining the barrier with one hand. Anderson turned his attention to his left to see what saved him and the sight … nearly killed him. Lying on the floor was Shepard, bleeding out with his front armor completely melted off. Part of Shepard's rib-cage was exposed as his hand stiltedly moved his grenade bandolier.

Anderson tried to yell only to let out a loud gasp and be met with immense hot pain on his left side. He looked to find he was also bleeding with multiple shrapnel wounds from his leg all the way past his vision and presumably his neck. He hopelessly stretched an arm out, desperate to save his friend. The enemy platoon came into view just as the pod sealed shut. They pained no attention to Shepard as they aimed their weapons on the pod's hatch door. From the glass window, Anderson could see Shepard pull the pin, connecting all the grenades in a fashion once known as the Dead Man's Switch. He, along with the rest of the enemy platoon, vanished in a swirling cloud of burgeoning flame; it was almost instantly obscured by the pod's thruster blast as it activated, propelling the escape pod from the ship. The last thing Anderson saw from the tiny porthole was the corvette crashing into the city, his best friend along with it.

* * *

 **Batarian Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

Garak watched silently as the two hundred meter ship, carrying over 100,000 tons of supplies, crashed into the city. Sacrificing the corvette hadn't been an easy choice. Intentionally destroying a key asset in any military campaign was something nearly unheard of, but considering the alternative, Garak believed it was a necessary sacrifice. When he had first heard of human elite troopers boarding the vessel through orbital insertion, he believed the slavers were being ludicrous. Who in their right mind would dare attack an entire vessel with just a few soldiers? But once his own pilots nearby began reporting enemy aircraft were crippling the ship, he had immediately ordered multiple squadrons to deal with the threat. Garak managed to cause tremendous damage to the area by ordering the corvette to fire everything it had upon the city while his pilots tried to shoot it down. Tremors and shockwaves were sent for miles across as the ship crashed and detonated near the city's outskirts, leaving behind a burning wreck. But even with the spectacle taking stage, Garak managed to receive data on a few escape pods launching before the ship managed to crash and presumed them to be the only few survivors, the cost of such a decision.

The unconventional tactic proved to be a double edged sword. Over four thousand batarian soldiers were within the kill zone and none have responded since the attack. The corvette itself served as a refuel and repair station for his air forces, allowing them to provide quick support. The losses, as tragic as they were, didn't come near to what Garak gained. The enemy had suffered worse losses, weakening them just enough for them to be on level with the slavers.

"Combat engineers are on their way to frontlines," Gonu growled. Garak knew that his XO had been apprehensive about the… controversial action, but he had his orders. The colonel appreciated the loyalty Gonu displayed, even under abnormal conditions.

"Excellent. Ready our bombers and fighters. I want a massive counter-attack by air. This will force the enemy back." Garak ordered.

"Hopefully it won't be much longer, until these humans are fully subjugated, for their own good."

"Agreed," Garak replied. His cold, calculating eyes returned to the map table, witnessing the events unfolding with precise details.

* * *

 **Alliance Military Headquarters**

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

Williams stared at the display in horror. He clutched at the edge of the holo-display with one hand while the other made an abortive attempt at shielding his eyes. A stabbing pain exploded behind his eyes as he watched the ship impact the ground, sending debris and shockwaves in every direction. Over ten thousand lives were lost in a blink of eye, the vast majority civilians. Many more were doubtlessly buried under the wreckage with little chance of help arriving.

By bare chance, Commander Hower and a good portion of his men had been able to escape, hijacking the enemy's own escape pods to do so. They had landed relatively close to each other, moving to meet a rescue team already en route

Shifting his view of the conflict on the screen, Williams felt a small amount of relief ease the pain. The defensive forces still stood strong, despite the massive assault. Multiple units were redeploying in response to the tactical shift. Reserves surged to the frontlines, making contact with the enemy, buying time for a now desperate evacuation with a valiant defense.

' _But what good would that do?'_ Williams thought, feeling the massive burden resume its place his shoulders. Civilians could only continue running so long as the Alliance held territory… the unspoken question was for how long? For how long can the Alliance forces hold out?

"General, we're receiving reports of enemy artillery strikes on the city's infrastructure!" Hackshaw reported, bringing Williams back to reality.

"Details, corporal."

"It looks like the bridges and highways leading out of the city are being targeted." Hackshaw stared at the screen before turning back to Williams. "Enemy preparations indicate a massive bombing campaign! Orders, sir?"

Cold dread seeped through Williams' innards as he realized what the enemy commander was doing. All avenues of escape were being cut off, concentrating the combatants in one, easy to bombard area. "Clever bastard," he murmured. The screen flickered under his fingers, as he thought about the next possible move.

"Deploy our Hailstorm reserves; they'll dance around the bombers while the Slamhounds and Tridents engage the rest enemy's spacecraft. Have the first wave of Xians slow the enemy's advance."

"Yes sir." The younger man barked tapped commands into his own omni-tool. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Williams took a deep breath, using the exercise to calm his nerves. "Once night falls I want what Spirits we have to target the artillery platforms."

"Yes, sir."

Before Williams could have a moment of peace, Vianna's hologram appeared over the map. He was a bit hesitant to address the AI, not wishing to deal with any more bad news. Knowing he had no choice, he decided to humor it. "What is it, Vianna?"

"Message has been decoded, and the contents are revealing to say the least."

"How so?"

Vianna's hologram keyed certain icons to display packets of information. "Details on our enemy, primarily information on their government, biological information, and military capabilities... plus a great deal more. It's not specific, but Sun Tzu once said-"

"Know your enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of one hundred battles." Williams finished, skimming through the information.

"Exactly. Hopefully this will be of some help."

"I pray so. Send this info to all commanders on Shanxi. They'll oversee the distribution among their forces."

"Understood." The AI's hologram faded.

"Sir… we have a problem," Hackshaw yelled. The tone, accompanied by his shocked face was enough of an indication for the general to know he would not like the news.

"What is it corporal?"

"General Bando has just commandeered an Enforcer battle group and is leading them to the frontlines!"

"What!?" At this rate Williams was going to suffer a heart attack. "Get me a line to the general, now!" Williams was not at all pleased. _'Just what the hell is he thinking?'_

Within a few seconds, a voice came over the line. _"This is General Bando."_

"General, I have just learned you've commandeered an entire battle group, without my knowledge, and are leading them into a hot zone. Would you care to explain?" Williams did nothing to hide his irritation.

" _Apologies General Williams, but the situation has become dire,"_ Bando said.

"I know which is why it is even more imperative that we communicate with each other _before_ making such decisions."

" _I understand, general, but I believe you've yet to receive an update on Dubar."_

Williams became suspicious, turning his head to the corporal. Without uttering a word, the corporal's hands glided through the terminal in front of him. He brought a focused image on the base itself, the resolution becoming much clearer. There was a large presence of blue dots around the base showing the location of friendly forces, but that wasn't what caught Williams' eyes. Forty kilometers north of Dubar was an enormous sea of red signatures, indicating a prelude to a massive push."How the hell did we miss this?" He asked rhetorically.

" _Now you understand the reason for my choice?"_ Bando questioned.

"I do," Williams replied, exhaling a deep breath. "But, it's still risky for you to personally head there yourself, general."

" _We do what we must to secure humanity's future. Anything less and we cannot expect to succeed."_

"Understood. Be advised I have sent a company of marines to the base as well. If they get there in time, they'll assist in any way they can… and for whatever it is worth, godspeed."

" _Thank you general. Good luck to you as well."_ Bando said, preparing to cut the link.

Before he could, Williams cut him off. "General wait," Bando seized his actions. "Did you get the information on the enemy? My AI just sent it to other forces worldwide."

" _I have, general. I'll transmit the information to all Enforcers."_ Once Bando cut the link, Williams was left alone with his thoughts.

' _Let's see what we can learn on the invaders,'_ Williams thought, deciding to take a much closer look at the information.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry about the inactivity. This chapter was supposed to be up two days ago, however I had my wisdom taken out that day and had spent the rest of the day with bleeding gums and a sore jaw. Yesterday wasn't any better as my options for food were very limited. Even today the right side of my face is swollen, however I will not let that stop me for delivering you guys with a new chapter. Also yeah, the ending was sad for one boy in particular and one N7.

 **Trivia:**

1\. Once again we have the divisions between Toren and Ban appear and we see Ban's ingenuity compared to Toren's arrogance. Also what happens now that Ban is truly aware of what Shanxi is?

2\. Now we have both sides aware of the other, how will this end?

3\. Commander Hower, leader of the N7 strike force, was originally a captain before being switched to his current rank. This was done upon realizing the N7s follow naval military ranks and a captain in the navy is the same as a colonel in the army while a commander in the navy is the same rank as a captain in the army, roughly speaking.

4\. Sergeant Ryu, was originally named Cho, but was changed to avoid confusion with General Chu of the NCRA and other NCRA soldiers.

5\. Anyone catch the reference to Mordin?

6\. We see a new biotic ability displayed by Stenkze, what can this mean? BTW if anyone has any ideas for biotic abilities, just PM me or leave your suggestion in your review.

7\. Title is a reference to a mission in Medal of Honor (2010), God I feel old and I am not even 20.


	9. Chapter 9 - Si Vis Pacem

12-26-2156 1329 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 753 (Assault), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

Smoke clouds bloomed overhead, chasing flares of light all across the horizon. Ripples were torn through the gray shroud, testifying where enemy and allied spacecraft had been moments before. Streams of tracer fire from AA guns dotted the sky as they sought to gun down enemy bombers. Every few minutes there was a tremendous surge of fire and a dull rumbling explosion further to the north, signs of the raging battle for the city. Causalities were mounting exponentially for both sides and this was merely the beginning.

Four Puma AFVs and AMZ-Badgers were in the lead of an Enforcer column, their sensor arrays sweeping their route for possible ambushes or incoming aircraft. A few squadrons of UCAVVs circled overhead, scouting for targets. Further back rolled another platoon of Badgers supplemented by Panther 1A3s, with the Battle group's artillery platforms and Charlemagne command vehicle traveling with them. The majority of transport trucks were located in the center of the formation, along with six ambulances – themselves outfitted with light machine guns. While the main function of the latter was to transport wounded soldiers or civilians the battle group happened to come upon, the Enforcers had decided it to be for the best if everything was armed. They were protected by the rest of the Pumas rolling close beside them. Overhead flew sixteen Cheetah gunships, their firepower giving the column some air cover. The rest of the Badgers and Panthers were located in the rear with the sole purpose of ensuring no flanking maneuver would befall the column.

Within every vehicle, Enforcer troops stood wary at the gun ports or in the opened backs of transport trucks, scanning their surroundings for any threats the sensors failed to pickup. In the urban sprawl that was now a warzone, caution was advised, even the main bulk of the troops kept their eyes glued to the north, the direction they were now racing towards at top speeds.

Inside the Charlemagne command vehicle, General Bando viewed the coming battle zone with a growing sense of dread. He'd soon be putting his own battalion against an army that had smashed through an entire Alliance armored company with seven supporting infantry platoons. He knew, even without looking at the predicted numbers, that many of the men and women under his command wouldn't be coming back alive from the battle.

' _How many have died already?'_ Bando wondered, seeing the growing list of casualties on his screen. The actual number must've been higher, with civilian deaths contributing to the majority percentage.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 387 (Airborne), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

Colonel Antony Perez stood on top the rooftop of Dubar, beside a pair of Kommando snipers, searching for targets over the western approach to the building complexes, and frowned. He scanned the horizon with his binoculars and checked the data feeds from his Eagleflies that were circling the perimeter. Everything he saw only worsened the mood.

Battle group 387 had mobilized the instant General Bando had sent the general alert order. Faster than anyone could think was conceivable; the 387th had deployed and established a perimeter around the command site. Prearranged gun emplacements had been set up all along the walls, interspersed by the two Panther platoons he had available. Being a primarily airborne battle group, the 387th lacked a good load of combat vehicles. What little he did have, Perez had positioned them as best he could. His Marksmen artillery was placed at the rear of the compound with a platoon of Badgers for air cover, though any high altitude bombers would easily tear through them. The rest had been scattered along the base and were constantly in motion, hunting for batarian gunships or low-flying attack aircraft. The only vehicles that were positioned on the frontlines along with his infantry were his Panthers and Pumas, and knowing the enemy's tactics thus far they will certainly need every bit of firepower.

' _Batarians, the official name of the invaders'_ , Perez sourly thought. The hostile, barbaric race stood against everything the Enforcers, and by extension the European Federation, believed in. The intel on their government and culture had spread quickly, thanks in part to Williams' QEC link, connecting crucial communication centers. From the information gathered it was easily understood the batarians were here for one thing only: _slaves_. The word sickened Perez as it did to all Enforcers. Freedom was the birthright of every being and the Enforcers believed it to their core. The batarian's primitive mindset, values, and culture only motivated every Enforcer to hold their ground that much longer, to fight that much harder, to defy the heinous monster that dared to call itself a civilization that much more.

But even with their high morale, the battle group still lacked the necessary strength to win. Unfortunately, Dubar base was huge and it only had five hundred and twelve Enforcers to secure it. That number was more than sufficient enough to patrol the area and guard the roads during peacetime where constant vigilance was not required. Now, it was barely enough men to guard all the gates and barriers. To make matters worse, he had to divert some of his troops to escort the civilians that had sought refuge within the base. The Enforcer's morale code prevented him from turning them down, but he wondered if he had done them any favors. An Alliance marine company was scheduled to arrive within the hour, but Perez didn't know if they had that much time.

The good news was that a few civilians, as well as the base's security guards, had volunteered to assist in the defense of the compound. A few dozen or so Rainbow Six squads had also answered the call of duty, contributing their experience and knowledge to the cause. At the very least, his troops had good lines of sight to their north and in all directions out to six hundred meters past the gates and walls. He thanked God for that. However, to their direct west was a series of apartment complexes that had been built for the base's workers to ease their commute, a generous move that was about to bite them in the ass. While he didn't know the exact range of the enemy's guns, the area would no doubt provide vital cover for them. He was reluctant to fire upon the buildings, or burn them to deny the enemy an advantage; mostly in fear of possibly killing civilians that may be still cowering in them.

However, their situation to the east was much better. He had the Allen River, the body of water that ran through the center of New Denver. Anyone who wanted to cross it would have to pass Shenzen Bridge, which he was more than willing to destroy if the enemy decided to use it. Anti-tank mines had been laid on the bridge in case the batarians decided to flank his position from that direction. Tactic wise, the base was more or less defensible and Perez acknowledged that. While the base wasn't in the best of locations, it certainly wasn't in the worst. The main weakness the base had was a lack of AA guns, leaving the Enforcers and everyone else vulnerable to a massive aerial attack. He prayed the enemy wouldn't realize this and instead commit to a frontal push with infantry and armor, ignoring the weak AA defenses.

Perez headed back down to ground level, circulating amongst the men as he did so. Their blue colored armor blended with the base's color schemes, but only barely. Perez hoped that the slight camouflage was enough to count as advantage. He rechecked their positions and emplacements with immense scrutiny, trying to find any flaw. Satisfied with his observations he made his way south towards a line of vehicles being loaded with civilians. He could see the last platoon of regular army European soldiers loading up into their Badgers while a good number of civilians boarded the transport trucks.

"Lieutenant Simon, is the convoy ready to roll?" He asked the officer in command, standing next to the lead Puma. The young officer was rather large, having a bulky figure and standing over six feet tall. He even towered over the colonel who wasn't short by any means. His helmet was tucked underneath his armpit as he surveyed the evacuation.

"Yes, sir. All loaded, just waiting for the signal."

"You know your destination right?" The colonel asked, his cautious attitude becoming apparent. The lieutenant merely gave a nod.

"Maps are uploaded and destination is set," he replied. "Though, you know I'd much rather prefer to stay and fight."

Perez patted the young man on the shoulder. He remembered back when the officer had first joined the battalion over five years ago and now stood as his second in command. "Simons, you know staying here isn't where you can do the most good. Our mission right now is to evac the civilians and I trust you to get it done." He clasped Simon's hand in respect.

Simon straightened, obviously encouraged. "I understand, sir. I won't fail you."

Perez then watched as Simon turned and boarded the Puma once the combined civilian and soldier loads were onboard. Perez hammered the side of the vehicle and with a gesture of luck, gave the thumbs up for the convoy to roll. The southern gate of the base opened, allowing the line of vehicles to roll out.

The colonel moved back toward the perimeter as the first and quite possibly the last wave of trucks began moving out of the gate, carrying over two hundred nonessential personal away from the oncoming slaughter that would be called a battle. Perez took comfort that at the very least he was able to give the children onboard the convoy a future and not be condemned by this war.

' _Two hundred down, about a half a thousand left to go.'_ Perez thought. _'Where the hell is that Alliance Company?'_

" _Broadsword to Hand's guard,"_ Perez's radio murmured. He pressed a finger in his ear to get a better quality. " _We have figures on apartment rooftops. Possible enemy spotters. Have no visual on range-finding or scanning equipment, but our sensors are picking up electrical transmissions from the apartment complexes. Permission to engage?"_

"Cleared, Broadsword," Perez replied and a couple of seconds later the rolling boom of a JO-2 .50 caliber rail gun sniper rifle firing was heard.

" _Hand's guard, spotter eliminated,"_ Broadsword reported.

"Good work," Perez said. Even before hearing the confirmation, he was already confident the spotter was down thanks to the JO-2's Exacto ammunition. The rounds were a miracle of modern warfare, self-guiding and capable of locking onto an enemy; if necessary, the rounds were even capable of adjusting its path in mid-flight. Such precision came at a price though, driving the production cost of such ammunition to astronomical levels and therefore it was only given to snipers. Perez smirked in pride. _'The JSF's arsenal may have longer range, but the Enforcers are unrivaled in precision.'_ Bringing out the battalion radio frequencies, Perez selected all the snipers under his command.

"Hand's guard to all sniper teams, you have clearance to engage any batarian units you encounter, including possible enemy spotters." He heard a chorus of acknowledgements and a question a second later.

"Sir, what about civilians?" One of the snipers asked.

A deep grimace appeared on the colonel's face as a deep silence enveloped the radios. Unlike the Spetsnaz, the Enforcers had a moral code, one that they took immense pride in. Perez thought long and hard before coming up with a decision. "If its civilians merely incapacitate, I doubt a wounded spotter would be a good one. Otherwise shoot to kill."

" _Understood, sir."_ Dagger piped up. _"Stand by,"_ A couple of seconds later, another loud boom echoed from atop of Dubar.

" _Tango is KIA,"_ Dagger's spotter confirmed.

Perez gave a silent nod as he moved across an uplink, designated as Lima, between the southern gate and local power plants. "Keep an eye out," he ordered. "Four eyes probably have more-"

One of the emplaced guns suddenly disappeared in a cloud of dust and blood, and Perez was hurled off of his feet by the shockwave. A momentary wave of dizziness swept over him as he tried to regain his footing. He could feel the rumble of more impacts all around the perimeter, hurling men and debris through the air. The wounded cried out in pain as the Enforcers tried to rescue as many of their own as they could.

"Artillery! He yelled. "Everyone get to cover!" Two grenadiers were vaporized as he dove underneath one of the bunkers lining the perimeter. "Mortars, do you have their position?" he screamed over the radio.

" _Triangulating now,"_ replied one of his officers. _"Based on arc and radar signatures, they're about four kilos north on an over pass."_

"Damn," the colonel hissed. The enemy had gotten artillery that close already? If so, it meant the enemy was merely testing their defenses and softening them up before committing their forces. Perez had to begrudgingly admit it was a good tactic. "Do you have visual on any nearby AA defenses?" he asked the mortar teams.

" _Getting Eagleflies into position now, stand by…,"_ The momentary silence gave Perez the chance to hear how rapid his heart was beating. _"Feed from drones show no signs of enemy AA guns, but it is possible they may have rocket troopers hidden nearby."_

Even with that caveat, Perez had no choice but to respond to the artillery fire. "Take care of them then." He ordered. "Have the Marksmen assist you." Once he received acknowledgements, the colonel keyed his frequency to one of his Cheetah gunship squadrons.

"Hand's guard to Titanium-lead, we have enemy artillery positioned on an overpass to our north. I want your squadron to take them out if you can, but fall back if things get too dicy." He ordered. By now he could hear the loud booming of his Marksmen firing, seemingly challenging the enemy artillery to a long-range battle. Perez had no doubts his Marksmen would be the victorious in such a battle, but he needed them to be free to deal with the enemy's armor, which based on his command computer, were less than three kilometers out with infantry not far behind. It wouldn't be long now.

" _Titanium-lead here. Don't worry colonel we'll take those guns out."_ Perez heard on his radio. The Cheetahs may not have the most extensive survival systems like a Howler, but their superior speed and maneuverability gave them an advantage in reconnaissance. Their speed combined with their low acoustic signature meant the batarians wouldn't see or hear their approach. Their armament was nothing to scoff at either. The Cheetahs' laser guided missiles displayed their emphasis in precision and peace-keeping roots. Add in their highly advanced electronic warning and warfare systems into the equation and you had a gunship, or rather gunships, ideal for hit and run attacks.

Yet the gunships would still take time, as fast as they were, and already Perez could see the effect of the enemy's artillery. Their fire had already struck a couple of uplinks, but thankfully they weren't too badly damaged. His troops were in a worse position, the artillery hammering First Company's position relentlessly while his Panthers had fallen back outside of the enemy's range. Perez cursed at the situation he was in. He needed his troops in a proper formation to counter the enemy's attack, which was easy enough to do, but the enemy artillery was getting in his way. Hopefully it would take much longer for his Cheetah squadron to take them out.

"Sir, we have an update!" One of the comm. sergeants shouted.

"What is it?"

"Allied battle group coming in from the south."

"Can you give me more details," Perez asked. He adjusted his own computer, noticing a Charlemagne was among the column and that was one hell of an advantage they were packing.

"Hold one," responded the comm. sergeant. She tapped a few commands, trying to establish a connection with the command vehicle. Within a few seconds, she was able to get a line with the officer in command. Immediately she clasped a hand over her jaw as all the color in her face dropped.

The sight was worrisome for Perez, taking it as bad news. "Sergeant, what is it!?"

She turned to face him with the same expression. "Sir, it's … it's Battle group 783."

Subconsciously, Perez breathed a sigh of relief. He was familiar with the force. 783 was an assault battle group with an equal amount of tanks, IFVs, infantry, gunships, and artillery. They were amongst the best battle groups they had on the planet, with a majority of their force having some combat experience. While they were far from being a quarter of what Battle group 1- the elite Special Operations - was, 783's numbers and force composition would be a great help in defending the site. But he was still unsure why the sergeant had such a shocked expression. Sure, the 783 were held in high regards among the Enforcers on the planet, mostly due to beating General William's men during exercises, but that alone wasn't enough to cause someone to be shocked into silence.

"Who is in command of the unit?" He asked.

"General Bando," the sergeant whispered.

Outwardly, Perez remained calm and composed, but on the inside he was screaming like a teenager. The implications were astronomical. General Bando arriving would be a superb morale booster, ignoring the additional force he was bringing. Within a snap, Perez got on the comm. frequency of every unit in the compound.

"To all units, this is Colonel Perez. Be advised we have an allied Battle Group arriving on our south under the command of General Bando himself. So let's make sure there's a base for the good general arrive to, Aye?"

A deafening response returned on the radio. Perez smiled for the first time that day. _'Perhaps not al is lost.'_

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 753 (Assault), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

General Bando stared at the screen, showing a long line of smoke and fire, data being transmitted from one of the Eagleflys. Tense radio messages came and went over the battle group network. Looking over the images, he checked his force's position on the GPS and highlighted the members he had selected to guide the civilian convoy they had came across a few minutes earlier.

"Tiber-lead, update on your status," he ordered.

" _Sir, we've encountered some minor resistance, but are advancing largely undisturbed. We'll make it out of the city."_

' _Good,'_ Bando thought. _'The loss in manpower may have a negative effect on the mission, but it is for a good cause.'_ He watched as his battle group rolled into the gates of Dubar, walls rising all around them as soldiers waved at them from fortified emplacements. Smoke and fire filled the air while the shudder of artillery and mortar fire drowned out any noise. He parked his Charlemagne next to the base's Alpha uplink while his forces were directed to other positions where they were needed most.

"Copy Tiber-lead. Over and out." Bringing up the battle group radio, he began issuing new orders as the ramp to his command vehicle lowered.

Clambering out the ramp, General Bando was greeted by a whiff of hot air, a scent of burnt metal, and the thunder of exploding artillery shells three hundred meters away. Accompanied by a squad of his own soldiers, Bando ducked and hurried across the compound towards the main command center. Heavy machine gun emplacements guarded the entrance and Bando saw a full platoon had been tasked with protecting it.

Stepping into the lobby, Bando could see it had been converted into a forward communications base. It was a big risk putting the officers so close to the entrance, but Dubar was so large that establishing a more centralized command further inward would only lead to communication delays. Besides if the enemy managed to breach the entrance of the building then the battle was already lost by that point. Everywhere Bando looked he could see data analysts wiping out every bit of classified information from the base's terminals. While the Enforcers had no intention of surrendering the base to the enemy they took every precaution necessary to ensure whatever gains the enemy made they would be miniscule at best.

Approaching the general was an officer in a classic Enforcer blue uniform with a flak vest placed over it. He had a full set of gray hair with a shorter, more slender frame then Bando. The general could see the relief in the colonel eyes shining through his expression.

"General," Perez said, straighten tall and giving a formal salute. Bando returned the ceremonial gesture. Even in a warzone, the Enforcers never abandoned their traditions.

"Colonel Perez," Bando replied in kind.

"I wish I could have been informed of your arrival," the colonel said. "It would have given me a bit of time to tidy the place up."

"Do not worry, colonel. The condition of the base is understandable given the circumstances. I am merely glad you have not forfeited it to the enemy."

"And I am truly honored by your presence, general." Perez said in genuine respect. Indicating to the tac-screen, he pointed to the positions highlighted in blue dots. "As you can see general, we've established defensive positions here, here, and here. A few of my Grenadier platoons have managed to place mines on the bridge to our east and fifty meters outside the base walls, though the majority of those are anti-personal."

"What of General Williams' reinforcements? Have they not arrived?"

Perez grimly shook his head. "Last I heard from them, they were fifty kilos out engaging enemy armor, haven't heard from them since then." He murmured. "We've also had contact with enemy spotters on top of apartments to our west. Chances are the enemy will hit us from three separate locations."

Bando reviewed the data, frowning as he did so. They had at most a company sized batarian force circling to their east, both delaying reinforcements and presenting a constant flanking threat to the base. _'This must've been why the colonel placed the mines,'_ he thought, silently agreeing with the decision. If the colonel was correct in the enemy's strategy, then the batarians would hit their western flank, most likely with low experience soldiers, but in large quantities to distract them from covering other areas. But the main thrust was still to their north. At least a dozen artillery emplacements were already firing upon the base with two or three batarian armored battalions in support and that wasn't even counting infantry strength or air assets.

"Colonel, what supports do we have online?" Bando asked, wanting to mentally take inventory of all assets he had available.

"Well we have multiple EMP missile strikes ready for deployment and we have a squadron of Hailstorms with a guided high energy bomb each." Perez said, brining up a new display. Icons blinked, confirming his words with dispassionate strength.

"Excellent," Bando replied, incredibly relieved. He was most thankful for the EMP missiles, which would affect any electronics in the immediate vicinity without a friendly IFF tag. Since Enforcers were naturally experts at electronic warfare, Bando knew this would allow them to use their strength against the enemy. What pleased him more was how susceptible eezo-technology was to electro-magnetic pulses, technology that made up the entirety of the batarian's arsenal.

"Sir," Perez began, brining the general out of his thoughts. "I've been meaning to ask, but since you've came from the south I was wondering if by any chance-"

Bando gave him a brief smile. "Do not worry colonel, we came across the civilian convoy you had dispatched and I personally lent some of my force to make sure they got out of the city safely."

"Thank you, sir." Perez said, shoulders relaxing. "That was a big favor."

Bando clasped a hand on Perez's shoulder. "No need to thank me for doing my job."

"Of course, general."

"Colonel, what can you tell me about the civilians?" Bando asked.

"Well, we still have a total of five hundred innocent souls. When they came to the base and asked for protection, I couldn't simply turn them away. I realize it has drained some of my forces which could have been put to better use-" Bando silenced Perez's attempt to justify his actions with a hand.

"Do not worry, colonel," Bando reassured. "That is what any Enforcer is expected to do." He then turned his attention to the squad of Enforcers that had accompanied him. "Lieutenant, why don't you take your squad and check on the civilians. I'll call you if we need your men on the frontlines."

The officer in question gave a nod before giving a very confident salute. "Yes, sir. Saber on me." The lieutenant lead his squad to the where the civilians were being held, leaving the two senior officers to their planning.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 753 (Assault), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

At merely twenty years of age, Lieutenant Amadou de Bankole was already a highly experienced Kommando within the Enforcer Corps. He had participated in a few operations against local terrorist groups and had shown to be a capable leader. Within a short period of time, Bankole had gathered the respect and gratitude of multiple forces, some even from foreign armies. He was often held in high regard and it wasn't too hard to see why.

His clean shaven beard and short hair was in accordance with Enforcer hygienic standards. His dark skin complemented his caramel brown eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of Europe's finest generals. While French, Bankole was of West African descent and still carried an accent from his native country, yet no one questioned his loyalty to the Federation. In fact, he was among the most patriotic officers in the corps, multiple times referring to European territories as 'sacred ground'. He personally believed any occupation of European territory by a foreign power to be a permanent shame to his honor and, as a result, had taken the news of the invasion the hardest, but was also the most determined to defeat the batarians. Despite his fierce loyalty, Bankole was far from nationalistic, having a nuanced view of his government and of others. His personal code of honor, ability to motivate his troops, and being able to seize the initiate wherever possible made Bankole a treasured soldier and these qualities would be tested in the upcoming battle.

The moment Bankole walked into the bunker that housed the civilians Colonel Perez had given refuge to, his heart was filled with sadness. _'So many families, so many people, so many innocents displaced by the invaders.'_ He thought, seeing the effects of the war first hand. Hundreds of innocents were placed in the bunker as if they were cattle, barely having enough space to lay a mattress for an entire family to sleep on. A few unlucky souls simply lacked anything, but received help from others. There was a heavy mixture of different nationalities, Northern American, European, Asian, and many more, yet the people here didn't seem be bothered by it. There was no division based on race, ethnic group, or government, just pure unity. People exchanged cultures and personal history with each other as they gathered in complete harmony. At least, during a war against an alien race, they had unity.

Just by observing them, he could tell that despite being cramped in the bunker, everyone did their best to give others their fair share of space. Adults took inventory and handed out rations while the children socialized with each other. None of them had a large abundance of personal goods or supplies, making him guess they only took what mattered most in the little short time they had to evacuate. All of them had dirt, ash, and grime on their faces that seemed to highlight the hardships they faced to simply get here. He could see several stains on the clothes of many, yet they were just happy to be alive. He didn't know how many of the families here had lost a loved one, but he could see they tried their best to comfort and protect each other.

"This is simply not right," Staff Sergeant Illaria Cimino said, seeing how much the war had torn these people's lives. She was Italian and one of the oldest members in the squad. For a woman, Cimino had very short hair, but it was still larger than Bankole's. Her crystal blue eyes gave her a piercing look that was masked only by the dust and grime of war. While normally preferring stealth operations and intelligence gathering, she was immensely committed to protecting these people.

"Well then, that just means we have another reason to beat the batarians out of the colony," Corporal Antonio Maldini put in, checking to ensure his beloved AUG Light Machine Gun was fully loaded. Like Cimino, he was Italian and twenty three years old. Unlike her, Maldini had a history of being deployed into hot spots, possibly due to receiving training under the JSF's Rainbow Six teams during a soldier-exchange program between the Federation and UNAS. His hair was noticeably messier than what Enforcer regulations permitted with a suave mustache on his lips.

"Que injusticia," Santiago Arnavisca said in deep guilt. He sub-consciously reverted to his native language when stating his thoughts on the injustice the civilians had endured. As a Warrant Officer, Arnavisca was both the second highest ranking and only grenadier in the squad. Coming from Spain, Arnavisca was also the squad's translator, speaking fluently in English, German, Italian, as well as his native tongue Spanish. In a multi-national force, translators were critical when communicating with another force or civilians within the Federation. He had a military buzz-cut hairstyle with a much thicker mustache than Maldini; however it was blocked from view by his gray balaclava placed underneath a Graphene plated helmet that featured an air filter, interproof antenna, and a connection to nearby Archer combat drones. Maldini and Cimino also wielded an Enforcer helmet, minus the face-covering mask, which seemed to resemble the head gear of traditional Japanese Samurais.

"I am guessing this is the new normal on the colony now, huh lieutenant?" The rest of the squad was a bit surprised to hear the normally reserved German Sergeant Major speak. He looked faintly similar to Arnavisca, minus the mustache. He was also the only one sporting a blue cap rather than a helmet. Being a man of few words, when Alexis Matz spoke it had a tendency of capturing attention.

When the sergeant major first joined the squad, Bankole managed to have a chance to review his file, and was stunned at the listings. He was shocked to learn that Matz had participated in several clandestine operations prior to joining the Enforcer Corp. Being Special Forces trained; Matz had more combat experience than the rest of the squad combined. The soft-spoken German was arguably the deadliest man in the squad, though you wouldn't know if you looked at him. Indeed, Bankole had been fairly suspicious of the man's loyalties, until events had proven him beyond a doubt that Matz was never one to betray others, much less his own squad.

"It appears so, Sergeant Major," Bankole replied. "Officer Arnavisca, see if the people need anything. Perhaps we can hand them some of our excess supply. Maldini, go with him." He ordered.

"Of course, sir." Maldini answered, following Arnavisca as they both tried to figure out who needed what.

"Lieutenant, would you like me to check the structure's integrity?" Cimino asked.

"Yes."

Cimino gave a nod before walking over to an engineer. "You there, are you familiar with the building's systems?" She asked a technician. Once he gave a nod, she dragged him off as she went into great detail of the many systems she had experienced with and which she presumed where used in the building.

"Now Matz, uh…hmmm," Bankole struggled to find a task for the Kommando. It wasn't that the man was incapable, but rather his silent demeanor tended to push people away. Add in his calculating stare that never seemed to end, Matz was never Bankole's first choice when it came to communicating with civilians. "Why don't you just keep an eye out and keep me informed if anything changes?"

Matz gave a thumbs-up before walking over to a secluded corner and with his arms crossed continued glancing at passersby's and everyone else in the building. Leaning on the wall with his right shoulder, Matz took out a coin and began flipping it repeatedly. His eyes never left the crowd as he flicked the coin up each time it landed on his thumb. His expression seemed to unease some other Kommados in the room as they kept sneaking glances at him only for him to return it suddenly, causing them to put a good amount of distance from the man.

Bankole gave a sigh. Matz wasn't anti-social, just hard to approach. He would be the first to admit, he himself had pre-judged the man before getting to know him. Once he did, he'd found Matz to be a calm, rather polite, and hardworking soldier. Out of everyone in the squad, he held Matz in the high-most respect as the man never seemed to compromise the Enforcer code.

"Hey, you! Are you really a knight?" A voice said, bringing Bankole out of his thoughts. He felt a tug on his pants and looked down to see a young boy, no more than twelve-years old staring back with a smile on his face. He had dark blue eyes with dark brown hair and a light tan.

Bankole gave a light-laugh before kneeling to face the young-boy at eye-level. "Ha! No little one, I am not a knight just an Enforcer." He explained, sensing great admiration coming from the boy.

"Well they say that you guys are like knights! Fighting evil, being completely brave, and having no fears!" The kid exclaimed.

Bankole smiled at the kid's still-intact innocence. "No little-one, Enforcers aren't fearless we simply have the courage to face our fears. That is true bravery." He ruffled the child's hair. "Tell me what is your name?"

"Eric, but my friends call me Rickey," The boy said, pointing over to a few boys and girls. All of them were about the same age and height as the boy. "They were too afraid to talk to you, but not me! I told them that you were here to save us, but they didn't want to believe me."

Bankole glanced at the group of kids, all of whom were still reluctant to approach, before returning his attention to the child. "You are correct, Eric. So long as I draw breath, the invaders will not touch you or your friends." He stated

"I knew it, I knew it," Eric exclaimed. "When I grow up I'm going to be one of you!" He declared proudly, clutching his hands into fists in awe.

Bankole was taken aback by Eric's declaration before feeling a proud smile stretch itself across his face. "Well Eric, becoming a part of the Enforcer Corps is long and difficult, but if you are determined enough you can achieve greatness." He watched as Eric's awe grew. Deciding to reward the boy for his courage, Bankole reached into his armor and unclipped the Federation's insignia, a gold star with two lightning bolts on each side with a picture of the Federation in the background. On top rested the name of the Corps while on the bottom was the Enforcer motto, _Si Vis Pacem Para Bellium._ Translated into English it read: If you want peace, prepare for war. "When faced with struggles, let this guide you through them and may you be stronger for it."

Bankole easily clipped the insignia onto the boy's shirt as his face showed gratitude and respect. "Awesome!" The boy shouted in amazement, drawing the attention of some bystanders. "Look what I got guys," he said, turning around to show his friends. Bankole noticed they had drawn nearer, but still maintained a respectable distance.

The lieutenant suddenly noticed that the groups of kids were unsupervised. "Eric, tell me where are your parents?" He asked.

Eric turned around to face Bankole, his face still maintaining a sense of awe. "My mom went with others to gather some supplies just a few moments ago. She should be back anytime now. As for my dad, he is working with some other people to help maintain the things that run this place."

Before Bankole could say anything else, a shockwave shook the building. An alarm suddenly began ringing, warning the people to get to safety. The Enforcers responsible for guarding the shelter began urging civilians outside to get inside.

" _Saber-lead! Come in Saber-lead,"_ The sound of General Bando's voice captured Bankole's absolute attention.

"Saber-lead here, what is going on general?"

" _Lieutenant, we have contact with enemy hostiles! They just fired a large salvo of rockets into the base. So far we only have minor casualties, but right now we have enemy infantry to our east and north. I need your squad on the frontline!"_

"Yes, general," Bankole replied before cutting the link.

"Who was that?"

Bankole looked around before mentally remembering that the young lad was still in front of him. "That was General Bando, my commanding officer." Standing up, Bankole guided Eric to his friends, all of whom had expressions of horror and dread. "I need to go, young one, but remember what I have told you here today and stay safe." He said before turning to his squad, who were waiting on him near the exit.

"Don't worry I will never forget you!" The boy hollered, giving Bankole a cheery wave.

Bankole happily returned it before jogging to meet his squad. With one final look back, Bankole swore no one, alien or otherwise would extinguish the boy's fierce flame.

"Are you ready, lieutenant?" Cimino asked.

"Yes. Now let's get to the frontlines, Saber." He proudly stated, leading his squad into the raging storm with absolute confidence.

* * *

 **Trivia:**

1\. Title is a tribute to the Enforcers, more specifically their motto.

2\. If you noticed thus far, Admiral Ban, General Bando, and Lieutenant Bankole all share the same pre-fix Ban. This was unintentional and a coincidence, howeverit shows the different personality between the batarians and Enforcers. They are basically the polar opposites of each other.

3\. The Exacto ammo is a tribute to Ghost Recon Future Soldier and is currently in research by DARPA. It was given to the Enforcers since it aligned with their doctrine.

4\. There was also a tribute to Rainbow Six, which is more obvious than the one for Ghost Recon.


	10. Chapter 10 - Para Bellum

12-26-2156 1409 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **12** **th** **Armored Company, 4** **th** **Marine Battalion**

Hover-tank, two hundred meters ahead!"

"Target acquired!"

"Fire!"

The Barracuda shuddered under the recoil of a solid half ton of force; just the sound of the mass accelerator cannon alone could be heard from ten miles away, should anyone have been paying attention. The windows of a few abandoned vehicles nearby shattered as the accelerated slug passed them, caving under the changing air pressure. Two hundred meters ahead, trying to maneuver between apartment buildings, the lead enemy hover-tank was hit dead center along its left hull. Chunks of armor plating deformed like molten plastic and flew through the air, causing the batarian tank to grind to a halt. Fire belched from the hole a moment later, confirming the hit.

"That's a kill," muttered Gunnery Chief Jil Dah. She smiled at yet another dead enemy crew.

"Moving forward," Corporal Oleg Petrovsky stated.

Lieutenant Commander Tadius Ahern nodded. In his late twenties, Ahern had the body frame of an average marine with light caramel hair and a beard to match. He was already on the fast track to become a major, and well on his way to leading his own regiment. Now, however, he was neck deep in batarian armor. His tank platoon, given the call sign 'First In,' bumped along the pavement as they rolled down the street with two other tank platoons, 'Steel on Target' and 'Fire for Effect,' close behind. The 12th Armored Company was part of a spearhead rescue and supply mission heading straight for Dubar command. Twenty five Barracudas, followed by forty Makos, rolled onwards at full speed into twice their number of batarian hover-tanks and their heavier tank destroyers, nicknamed _hard_ _shells_ by those whom had encountered them earlier, titled so for their superior armor.

The mission was daring and very risky, but Ahern knew the importance of Dubar and more importantly, the intelligence stored there. He was all too aware of the dangers of the mission, especially the psychological effect of fast-moving, highly maneuverable, and ambush-capable enemy armor, combined with the low survival odds. The good news was that, despite their superior numbers, the batarians tanks were highly inferior to even the Barracudas in a straight out brawl. Anything packing a cannon over a 100mm could gut the hover-tanks in one shot, ignoring their kinetic barriers completely.

It wasn't that the hover-tanks were necessarily bad tanks; in fact they actually worked well as light armor and reconnaissance vehicles. They also had faster autoloaders, allowing them to fire barrages non-stop. With their guided missile system that were apparently impervious to the Barracudas' jammers, the hover-tanks had a high degree of accuracy, even during aggressive maneuvering and with their highly sophisticated repair system it made them highly dangerous opponents in opened areas. A few allied platoons had learn this the hard way; however the hover-tanks' 60mm guns were no match for the much larger 125mm cannons on the Barracudas and were firecrackers compared to the NCRA manufactured tanks' dual layers of both armor and kinetic barriers. The hover-tanks sacrificed durability for speed, but the urban terrain favored tanks with superior armor and guns, at least on the offensive.

"Another hover-tank, no three, about ten meters on our left." Petrovsky called.

"Moving turret … target acquired!" Dah shouted.

"Fire!" Ahern ordered.

All four of First In's tanks opened fire in unison. Four 125mm slugs flashed through the air, but only one managed to hit. The two other hover-tanks had apparently anticipated the incoming tanks and had used their superior maneuverability to literally fly over First In's salvo. With the added height advantage, the hover-tanks responded in kind, firing a withering barrage while continuously maneuvering around the Barracudas.

"Care Taker, this is First In-lead. We got two enemy hover-tanks dancing here, and could use some wing-clippers," Ahern barked into his radio. It squealed for a moment, straining to receive through the alien jammers.

 _"Sit tight First In, we'll bring them back to ground level_ ," a feminine voice responded a moment later.

Soon four Makos, the rolling armored fighting vehicles of the Alliance, joined the Barracudas' ranks. Within seconds they added their considerable firepower to the attack, firing Ground to Air missiles with abandon. While originally meant for gunships or low flying attack aircraft, the GTA missiles had been found to be highly effective against enemy tanks. Exemplifying that fact, one of the hover-tanks was destroyed while the third barely managed to dodge the attack and fired a continuous return volley against one of Care Taker's Makos. It did more damage against the Mako's weaker armor, but once forced to the ground, a shot from one of First In's tanks obliterated it.

"Sir, through or over 'em?" Petrovsky asked. It was a fair question; the burning wrecks blocking the road ahead. The Makos, with their resilient suspension system, would be able to go over the artificial road block; however the Barracudas' treads were not geared for such agility.

"Through them," Ahern said, looking at the wreckage. "Time is of the essence. Make a hole, First In."

The tank platoon gunner obeyed, firing his main cannon directly into the mass of scrap metal. The hover-tanks further disintegrated under combined fire, leaving only specks of ash and shrapnel. Ordinarily one would want to keep the road-block to prevent other enemy armor passing through, but the enemy's hover-tanks could simply fly over it, negating such efforts.

"Hm," Ahern took the time to check his UAV feed. The results were encouraging; the rest of the armored company was progressing well thus far, five platoons of four tanks each rolling up the streets and obliterating batarian armor. The Barracudas were reaping a horrible tally among the enemy with minimal losses.

However, his spirits sank a little as the flying device panned a wider view. Almost eighty hover-tanks were inbound, outnumbering his own company by more than two to one, excluding the batarian's IFVs, artillery platforms, and troop transports. From the appearance, he had to guess multiple enemy battalions were diverting to Dubar, making the enemy force just under regiment-size.

On the recon video, more shapes began appearing through the debris and smoke. The ominous shapes numbered in the dozens, and once the drone managed to catch a quality image of one of them, Tahern's heart dropped.

Batarian tank destroyers.

"Shit, everyone ready weapons. We have hard shells inbound." A series of crisp acknowledgements rang through the radios, before the dull thumping sounds of reloading weapons repeated itself a dozen times. The ones with the most munitions took point, leading the rest towards a very large enemy force. "This is going to get ugly," Ahern murmured, grimacing at the prospect of fighting tank destroyers in the urban terrain.

Suddenly a Barracuda was hit by two tank destroyers hiding in an ambush to one side, and erupted into a ball of shrapnel and black smoke. Two more shells slammed into the building behind them as another pair of tank destroyers opened fire from another angle.

Then a third shell whipped toward them from a cross-alley, striking Ahern's tank right in the middle of the track-lane. The treads shattered, ceramic plating and track sections exploding from the impact and the Barracuda slewed to a grinding halt. The turret spun, firing up the alley, but the ambushing tank destroyer was already backing up, and the heavy shell missed cleanly.

"Petrovsky!" Ahern yelled as he heard the autoloader clack a new shell into place beside his head.

"Tracks jammed," Petrovsky reported. "We're stuck."

"Shit, tank destroyer! Right forty meters," Dah snarled from one side. "Target acquired!"

"Fire!" The Barracuda recoiled from the force and the tank destroyer down the street stopped dead in its tracks, a gout of fire and smoke emanating from a crater in its main body.

Two Barracudas arrived, advancing to put pressure on the remaining tank destroyers while covering one of their own. They fired simultaneously, pairing a blue beam of light and two solid high explosive, armor piercing shells. The payload lanced past one another, reaching its target with full force. The former burned clean through the right track section of one tank destroyer, while the latter blasted a path straight though the front wind-shield of the rectangular six-wheeled vehicle, pulping its crew and detonating inside the selection of fuel cells powering the main gun. The mass accelerator cannon exploded in a ball of fire and spiraling shrapnel that dug furrows into brick walls on all sides.

Ahern grinned, despite the condition his tank was in. He could see a repair crew already disembarking from a Mako, while the rest of the force continued onwards.

 _"First In-lead, seems you're in a tight spot,"_ a tank crew member mocked.

"First In-two, worry about yourself." Ahern jokingly scowled. It was good to see high morale, especially in the middle of a war zone. Good morale meant good fighting.

 _"Ohh watch it First-two, the commander seems agitated_ ," the crewman seemed to be attempting to ensure the entire city was hearing their conversation, switching to a public channel.

Another crewman responded in kind. _"Probably because we just saved his ass, First In-four,"_

Ahern ignored their banter, focusing his concentration on bringing his tank back to full operational capacity. Despite the delay, progress was excellent. He just hoped it remained so.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 753 (Assault), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

Dubar was a fortress, made of steel and concrete, designed to deflect incoming artillery with contemptuous ease. Towers lined its edges, standing sentinel over the vast courtyard like watching giants. Each tower protected gun emplacements, commanding a wide view of the outside walls, both interior and exterior fields.

Inside, there was enough room for the full Federation contingent to maneuver with care. The walls were high enough to protect even the vehicles, except for the regular depressions gave room for the tanks to fire. Trenches running through the center were oddly placed, but enough to grant minimal cover … no one had expected an all-out siege against a colony backed by the Big Four after all.

The sound of thunder and lightning cracked the sky as Enforcer and batarian forces clashed with one another. The combat based explosives combined with the elements of nature to create a truly _hellish_ battlefield. The storm seemed like a massive monsoon, flooding the battle zone and creating a dense fog, interfering with optics and instruments alike. All of the former street lights were either already blown apart, or twisted away by the terrible winds. A watchtower near Bankole exploded under the combined force of extreme wind and a near-miss, showering the area with concrete, chunks of plaster, and gobs of metal. The more solid bits pinged off of his personal shield, hissing angrily as he fired his assault rifle. The beret Bankole was currently wearing offered no head protection, but he couldn't worry about that now. Enemy rounds bounced off of his armor as missiles were deflected by the cover he was crouching behind. Thankfully, they were capable of weathering the attack.

The E3000's bolt cracked open, and Bankole reached for another magazine, inserting it into the weapon's receiver. The E3000 was the Enforcer Corp's newest weapon; an experimental bulb-up assault rifle capable of firing 7mm microwave enhanced rounds. In essence, it was a rail gun far lighter and faster-firing than their JSF counterpart, but it was less accurate at long range as a result. However; there was a reason why the Enforcers were unrivaled in urban warfare. Bankole momentarily glanced at his E3000's under-barrel attachment; debating if now was the appropriate time for its use. Unlike the other factions, Enforcers didn't carry grenade launchers underneath their rifles, instead wielding a miniaturized laser capacitor that could easily bypass shields. Eezo nodes, placed around a rotary carbine produced enough energy to create a focused beam, more than capable of being emitted from the rifle's capacitor, and giving the Enforcers a strong – if momentary – advantage. This had the twin blessings of both lowering collateral damage, and allowing members of the Enforcers carry lightweight batteries instead of the heavier grenades. The only setback, admittedly a large one, was that while THELs were incredibly accurate, they were only useful in close range. So far the enemy was still at least 600 meters out.

Deciding to hold off until the enemy got closer; Bankole continued firing with the main mode. Out of habit, he checked, ensuring his side-arm was present. The hard composite material met his fingertips, bringing a tiny smile to his face. The E60 was a thing of beauty, a lightweight, semi-automatic pistol equipped with an integral suppressor, though in this situation silence wasn't much of an advantage. It's electro-magnetic and laser sights helped detect camouflaged enemy sentinels and other hidden tech specialists, a symptom of paranoia from the old days. But the true reason for why the E60 was so beloved by the Enforcers was the reason for its kinship with the E3000; it packed a nasty little surprise. The pistol was capable of firing a small electromagnetic pulse from a special attachment, within a very small radius. It had no effect on Federation technology due to deliberate shielding from such attacks.

He ducked, just as an enemy rocket trooper fired another missile at the barricade, apparently hoping to destroy it. A loud thunder erupting from Matz's JO-2 long rifle quickly ended that dream. Bankole gave a nod to the sniper before continuing to fire at the approaching enemy, careful to stay behind cover. While the Federation-issued armor was more than capable of providing excellent protection, it wasn't made with the intention of lasting through a long siege. Still, it was more than enough to match the enemy's small arms fire. It was incredibly light, barely weighing just over ten pounds, flexible yet strong. The secret was Dragon Skin, Graphene weaves, and Ceramic plating layered upon each other to provide immense protection without sacrificing mobility. The embedded Gore-Tex and stealth nano-fibers allowed the Enforcers the flexibility to both fight in extreme temperatures, and blend in the shadows if necessary. Its tactical hard knuckle gloves and reinforced gauntlets gave them an advantage in hand to hand combat, especially when storming buildings. The specialized goggles placed over his eyes were equipped with a holographic interface that displayed a HUD, map, and comm. link to the rest of the battlegroup.

Bankole shifted his aim, squinting through the protective frames. Humanoid silhouettes were visible against the intense flames and destroyed buildings, their black and red armor in eerie synchronous with the background. The figures screamed and chanted orders in a native tongue, spraying small arms fire into the barriers from a fair distance, blasting more chunks of steel and masonry to fill the air. The batarian advance was slow, but suffered low casualties. The streams of water falling from the sky affected mobility to a significant extend, though not enough to stop the enemy. Like giants trading blows above mere men, Federation and Hegemony vehicles traded fire across the gap, supplemented by heavy infantry.

In three rapid bursts, Bankole sprayed over the top of the barrier, cutting down many batarian troopers as they tried to advance. Federation snipers fired in rapid succession from an elevated position, pouring semi-automatic high-caliber fire at the enemy while at the same time marking targets for their Marksman artillery. The twenty members of Saber platoon cut down as many batarian troops as they could before being forced back into cover by enemy rocket troopers and hover-tanks. In the midst of the screaming, gunfire, and explosions, Bankole heard a _thoomp_ sound before witnessing a half-dozen enemy soldiers engulfed in a large explosion. He looked over his shoulder to see a platoon of four Panthers firing in rapid succession, each blast rocking their frames backwards. A brief smile appeared on his face as the Federation tanks continued firing nonstop.

While the smallest among the four faction's tanks, the Panther made up for such a disadvantage by having a superior firing rate, better fuel-efficiency, and some of the most advanced hardware ever seen by man. The main 120mm was a boon as well. While the blast radius of such a cannon was lesser than that of other armored units, each shot was made using highly advanced shells. Its three layers of electronic defenses and high-speed made the Panther a perfect hit and run vehicle, and more than capable of holding its own in armored warfare.

" _Lieutenant Bankole, this is Matterhorn. We're readying VIRCATOR rounds, so I suggest you keep your heads down,"_ The tank leader said.

"Copy Mattherhorn," Bankole barked in response. VIRCATOR rounds were high-powered microwave enhanced shells; highly effective against shields and notorious for causing horrific damage to enemy infantry. "First Company, take cover!" He shouted over the radio. Even over the chaos spilling in the area, every Federation soldier he could see immediately ducked behind base's barriers.

Mattherhorn's tanks unleashed their special attack moments later, causing two whole squads of batarian soldiers to spontaneously combust. The sight was as gruesome as it was disgusting. Normally, the microwave ordnance within the Corp was set to a non-lethal setting but it was not so in this case. Very few members appeared to hold sympathy for the four-eyed invaders.

The battleground following the barrage was filled with the screams of the dying, barely audible over the roar of blazing rifles and exploding rounds. Lacking a helmet, or at the very least an air filter, Bankole was inundated with the smell of cordite, ash, sweat and blood, and the undeniable odor of pulverized flesh.

The northern wall of Dubar erupted with a volley of gunfire, Kommados and Grenadiers reloading their weapons almost as fast as they fired them. The blue tracers of the Enforcer's weapons created small orbs of lighting in the stormy afternoon, flickering throughout the field. Several batarian troops were stopped dead in their tracks, machine gun and assault rifle fire scything through them, dropping them into the flooded streets. Piles of bodies were washed away by strong currents, the salty water becoming stained in a yellow color.

Bankole watched as a new platoon-sized force rolled behind a batarian tank destroyer, taking cover behind the vehicle. Its main gun glowed, before a slug accelerated from its barrel. "Get down!" he shouted.

For a moment all Kommadoes and Grenadiers near him halted their fire, once again ducking behind cover. Lucky for them, they weren't the destroyer's target. The round accelerated past the Enforcers, connecting with one of Matterhorn's Panthers. The tank took the bulk of the damage to its left tread, but was thankfully still operational.

" _This is Matterhorn-3, we're banged up, but still operational!"_ The radio squawked.

" _Fall back Matterhorn-3, we'll give you covering fire,"_ Bankole heard Matterhorn-lead ordered. _"The rest of you, target the destroyer."_

" _We copy,"_ It was obvious that Matterhorn-3's crew was doing its best to retreat with a damaged tread while the rest of the Panthers formed a protective barrier around them.

Bankole felt a surge of pride, accompanied by a thirst for blood. "Arnavisca, take out that destroyer!"

Arnavisca gave a nod before switching his E3000C for his MILANA-2 missile launcher. Once equipped, the Spanish Grenadier aimed at the enemy tank, letting the MILANA's advanced auto-targeting computer system do most of the work. It wasn't as advanced as the Exacto ammo, but it still gave Grenadiers a massive edge when battling enemy armor. Once locked, Arnavisca fired, causing a slight buzzing noise as the magnetic coils inside the weapon accelerated the missile to high speeds. It soared across the battle field before hitting the destroyer, striking it right in the canopy of its main gun. Since a MILANA's missile was electrified before exiting the barrel, they were notorious on the battlefield for fragmenting. The electricity arc within the missile would then flash-convert the air inside the blast radius, causing a chain reaction that resulted in the creation of conductive plasma in addition to the missile's initial explosion. The total sum of damage: impact, heat, and electrical discharge, instantly overloaded the destroyer's shields while at the same time causing its armor to peel off. If one could listen carefully, they would hear a hissing noise coming from that section of the destroyer's armor.

Still even with MILANA's highly advanced missile, the destroyer returned fire defiantly, switching targets and blowing a sizable chunk in the base's protective barriers. Thankfully the blast caused no casualties, but did disorient the infantry. Before Arnavisca could reload his MILANA, one of Matterhorn's tanks rolled forward, aiming at the destroyer, and fired. In its battered state, the destroyer was no matched for the 120mm round that soon impacted against its hull, cutting a hole straight through before going up in flames.

"Lieutenant, destroyer is down!" Arnavisca yelled, re-equipping his carbine.

"Excellent, all units concentrate on the infantry," Bankole suited action to words, barely noticing the similarly shifting small arms at his side. Rifle rounds deflected off of his armor, hammering against him with the force of repeated heavy punches. Dropping back down, he let his shields recharge for a moment. Crouching, he slithered forward along the high walls of the base before getting back up. As expected, the enemy had presumed he would have returned fire from the same location, a mistake that would prove their downfall. Sighting his weapon, Bankole hunted for a target before pulling a trigger. Over four hundred meters ahead, a batarian who thought himself invisible soon went down after multiple 7mm rounds punched through his armor.

Despite the recent setback, batarian soldiers were soon advancing, intermixed with the armored forms of rocket troopers. The light infantry were easily cut down, taking the brunt of interlocked fire lanes from multiple machines guns. The Panthers' and Marksmen's fire added to the carnage, taking out groups at a time while creating dozens of craters upon the road at the same time. Enforcer mortar teams also joined in, causing significant damage, slowing the enemy's progress.

"Lieutenant, enemy gunships!"

Bankole turned towards the noise, to see Maldini holding an entire section of the wall by himself, firing his AUG nonstop. With his finger, Maldini pointed to the horizon and true enough, Bankole saw multiple gunships flying just above the city's skyscrapers.

"General Bando this is Saber-actual, we have a large concentration of gunships approaching our location. I am requesting a Badger team to provide anti-air fire." Even though the transmission was clear, he kept his voice loud, attempting to prevent the background noise of death and fire from consuming everything.

" _I copy, Saber-actual. Sending a platoon of Badgers to your location. Keep me posted,"_ The general cut the link abruptly. It was surprising that he had responded personally, given the chaos from just one battle.

Without warning, Bankole felt someone tug on his arm, pulling him down behind the barriers as a nearby explosion caused rubble to fly, a size-able chunk of debris hitting his head. The impact nearly knocked him unconscious, causing him to stagger to one knee while his rifle slipped through his grip. He rubbed his hand over his head, feeling a large bump and the cooling sensation of blood running down the left side of his face. He wiped the blood off as the ringing in his ears quickly went away. Bankole reached for his rifle, wondering what just happened.

"Here this should help," he heard a voice say. He looked up to see Matz crouching over him and giving some medi-gel in one gloved hand. The miracle fluid flowed over the head injury, reducing the swelling in a matter of moments; the substance was a boon to the battlefield soldier. Sometimes, every second was more valuable than a Prothean cache.

"Thank you," Bankole said, reloading another magazine into his rifle.

"Don't mention it." Matz soon returned to firing his JO-2 once more.

Bankole looked over the wall again, shaking off the last effects of the mild concussion. There was too much dust in the air, a maddening mixture of drifting black smoke that seemed loom over him with demonic energy. Enemy gunships punched through the cloud, their arsenal already trained upon the Enforcers.

"EVERYONE GET BACK!" Bankole cried before the gunships mercilessly opened fire. Missile and turret fire collided with the Enforcers, reducing the Federation's best to mutilated slabs of meat. Matterhorn deployed their ECM and laser countermeasures in vain hope that they might intercept some of the missiles; they even rolled forward to give the gunships a more vulnerable target to fire upon. Their VIRCATOR rounds and Tactical Low Energy Lasers did some damage, but not nearly enough.

Nearby Pumas redirected their EMA rail guns to the threat in the air, while surviving Grenadiers fired dozens of missiles. The enemy pilots seemed better trained than most, deploying their countermeasures while continuously firing their death machines with ease. The assault was only stopped by the easily recognizable effects of EMPs _finally_ taking effect, disrupting their flight controls. Several crashed into the ground below, while the rest fought to regain balance. What few remained airborne were annihilated, as dozens upon dozens of FORGAT missiles soared to the air, colliding against their armor before being incinerating by the blasts.

" _This is Ural, we got your back,"_ The unexpected voice of a Badger's commanding officer crackled over the airwaves. Their fire managed to drive the batarian gunships back while at the same time causing the approaching enemy infantry to drop prone in fear of the sirens of missiles being fired.

"Ural-lead, Saber-actual, thank you for the support," Bankole graciously said.

" _Anytime Saber."_

The batarian's heavy troopers soon responded, a series of rockets screamed through the air, slamming into the flank of the closest Badger a dozen meters away, exploding in a deafening spray of shrapnel. The Badger was shoved aside roughly tipping it on its side. The smoke trails of the missiles could still be seen, clearly highlighting their origin point. All three of Matterhorn's remaining tanks responded in kind, hosing the building with vindictive fire.

" _Ural-four come in! Ural-four respond!"_ The cries of the Badger platoon's leader was met only with silence, the destroyed APC now being the grave site of its crew. _"Damn it! Sorry, Saber but we've got to pull back."_

"Understood, Ural-lead. Maintain your distance." Bankole replied.

"Goddamn, these four-eyes are persistent," Maldini swore coming to a stop by the low section of crumbled wall.. "How long until reinforcements arrive!?"

"Unknown. But, we'll hold out for as long as we need to and – ah – sergeant …" Bankole didn't bother explaining, miming tapping his helmet with one finger.

Maldini did so, becoming aware of a seven centimeter-long shard of shrapnel embedded on the side of his helmet. An expression of deep annoyance crossed his face. Ripping the shard from his helmet, he started cursing in multiple languages.

Bankole listened attentively. The bit in Swedish about the lack of intestinal fortitude in their 'armor-defacing' opponents was quite poetic. Well worth remembering for another situation, should it come up.

" _To all units, this is Dagger, be advised we now have contact with the enemy to our direct west. Enemy infantry is using the buildings for cover and appear to be setting up spotters and mortar teams. All Marksmen are recommended to redirect fire on that location, over and out."_

Bankole gritted his teeth. The battle was beginning to resemble that of the trenches in World War One, where neither side was able to gain the advantage. However, he knew that was far from the truth. In reality, the batarian's massive push that was expected hadn't come yet, meaning the forces they were fighting now were only recon units. The enemy wasn't committing to one massive push, guaranteeing considerable casualties for both sides, instead testing the defenders while at the same time sapping them of their strengths. Whoever was in command of the enemy was not only smart, but efficient as well. That greatly worried Bankole.

Then it got worse…

" _All units stationed to the north fall back! I repeat fall back, enemy bombers incoming!"_ Bando gravelly voice boomed over the headsets.

It was too late, however as a flight of batarians bombers swept overhead, discharging their payloads. Multiple bombs fell among the massed soldiers, huddling between the buildings. The explosive devices shattered parts of the base's walls and power plants, heaving watchtowers into the air like a caber toss. Kommandos and Grenadiers positioned in the watch towers were either killed by the blasts or had to make the hard decision to jump in one last ditch effort to survive. Many were injured as a result, but were carried to safety by their brothers-in-arms.

Bankole could feel the ground rumbling beneath him as he shook his head. Looking up, he could see his HUD blinking, heavily layered in warnings. Smoke and dust stung his eyes as the open air hit his face. The goggles covering his eyes had been pushed off in the blasts, leaving him nearly blinded by the airborne debris. Swiping the toxic air with one hand, he found and replaced the goggles, rubbing the eye pieces to get rid of the grime that had accumulated. The gray air soon dissipated to reveal some sense of visibility.

"You alright, lieutenant?" He heard Ciminio's familiar voice ask. Kneeling beside him, she began a quick scan over his body, looking for any serious injuries or wounds. Satisfied when her search came up empty she began checking over the Kommandos and Grenadiers nearby.

Rising, Bankole saw the lights on his HUD blink yellow before returning to green, giving the condition of his status. "Hold the line!" he yelled, sidestepping behind cover as a rocket-propelled grenade exploded meters away. Brick and ceramic plating shattered, slicing through the air, throwing up even more dust. Bankole spun back around, his suit's onboard computers highlighting the nearest target.

Through the smoke, dust, and flames, he got a targeting solution and fired. Rounds tainted with a blue radiance exited from his E3000 in rapid succession, easily destroying his target's shields and armor.

On either side of him, Federation soldiers dug in, fighting a desperate battle to hold off the batarian advance. Missiles screamed from the Grenadiers' MILANA's while Kommando rifles and machine guns filled the air with tracer fire, raining grenades upon the enemy. Artillery and mortars only seemed to stall the hover-tanks in place as they approached, only a few dozens of meters away from colliding with the Enforcer line. Panthers and Pumas focused fire on them, obliterating many before they had a chance to fire. A few companies of the batarian infantry were now daring to traverse open ground, dying in the dozens as they tried to narrow the gap.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 753 (Assault), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

"Olympe, redeploy tank platoon to the north. Scorpio and Crossbow, direct artillery fire to phase-line alpha. MLRS are authorized." General Bando was in the thick of command now. His eyes were glued to the base's holo-display of the map, giving specific orders down to platoon and squad commanders. It was a difficult balancing act as Bando tried to maximize the efficiency of his troops without micromanaging the entire battle.

" _General, Olympe-lead,"_ a voice came over the radio. _"Olympe-three and two have been disabled, we are at half strength, but holding."_

"Copy, Olympe-lead," Bando said, closing his eyes for a second. When he reopened them, the projector took a second to re-adjust the image to display the tank's platoon disabled status. Luckily they weren't destroyed, the crew being forced to continue the fight on foot.

Bando had sent the remaining Olympes new orders to reinforce the fracturing frontline. Of the original four hundred troops, only two hundred and sixty were combat effective. Less severe casualties were being reported from the west, while the eastern flank was receiving minimal enemy contact. Still thinking, Bando redirected two platoons of Pumas northward, watching as they carried supplies and ammunition to the besieged Enforcers. He briefly entertained the idea of activating all of his Cheetah gunship squadrons, who were no doubt itching to get into the fight, but ultimately decided against it. He needed them fully functional in case of any other enemy artillery or tank companies arrived on the battle field.

A flashing icon appeared on the screen of his omni-tool as he was giving orders. A moment later he could hear the voice of none other than General Williams.

" _General Bando, it's good to see you are still alive."_

"Likewise, general," Bando replied, managing as smile. "But for how long, I cannot say."

" _Agreed."_ Williams gave an audible sigh. _"Which is why I've been making preparations for a tactical retreat."_

Bando tensed with deep scowl appearing on his face. "Sir? You cannot be serious, abandoning the city means-"

" _I am well aware of what it means,"_ Williams said sadly. _"The men that have died defending this place, the civilians that would be left behind, the ground the enemy will capture… I know what all of it means."_

Bando became silent, the kind that came from abject failure. "How bad is it?"

" _Horrific,"_ Williams replied. _"The enemy has established a semicircle of artillery and defensive positions wrapping around the entire southern perimeter of New Denver and are pounding what little fall back positions we have. To make matters worse you have a massive combined ariel and armor attack heading directly to your position. With these facts in mind any attempt to hold the city would only delay the inevitable."_

"And what of my men? The ones dying and fighting out there?" Bando's knew he was losing his temper; it was a disgrace to his rank, but the cost his men were being asked to absorb … "Or the civilians they are trying to protect? Are you telling me all of this is in vain?"

" _No, far from it. I've gotten into contact with the Alliance armor company, they're experiencing heavy resistance, but are headed your way. I've also deployed our reserves of Hailstorms and Martels to give your men some breathing room. As for me, I've got the enemy breathing down my neck so there'll be a blackout with command for a few minutes until I can relocate. I hope to see you alive after this general."_

"Likewise and thank you, general," Bando said, mind racing as he tried to factor the information into his defensive plans.

" _Thank me once this is all over, good luck."_

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 753 (Assault), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

"Six hover-tanks! three hundred meters!"

The call was unnecessary. Bankole could see the massive shapes lumber down the street about a third of a kilometer away, constantly swaying back and forth in impressive swiftness. He saw them fire sunburst-bright barrage, causing a section of the wall to his left to crumple inward. Granite flew outward, crushing a few unlucky soldiers and causing their insides to spill out. The sight was more than nauseating, but Bankole had more important matters to attend to.

"Saber! Target those tanks!" He shouted over the radio. As one, four Grenadiers aimed their MILANA's and fired electrified missiles.

The effect was immediate and satisfying. The missiles from Saber managed to wound roughly half the tanks, twisting and crumpling their armor, deforming under the heat and impact of the super conductive munitions. The enemy tanks shuddered to a halt, pausing dramatically before fire blossomed from their fuel compartment. A second later, all three tanks were immolated in their own fires as the fuel set them ablaze. The sight was short-lived, as the heavy monsoon subdued the fires, leaving sullen oil-fueled flames to flicker on the charred metal in its wake.

"Incoming!" Arnavisca yelled as the three remaining hover-tanks fired on the squad. An instant after the hover-tanks opened up, missiles whipped down the street at the entrenched squad.

Four meters to Bankole's left, a Kommando came apart as a shell punched right through his torso, sending armored limbs flying through the air. Machinegun fire raked across their positions, punching through one side of Bankole's armor and sending him flopping to the ground. Cimino quickly addressed his wounds with another dose of medi-gel.

"Keep down lieutenant or else you'll drain all of our medi-gel," she chided.

"I'll stay down when I am dead, staff sergeant." Bankole growled, cringing as a missile rocketed past his position. It detonated thirty meters away, sending a shockwave through the ground. He reloaded his E3000 frantically as batarians troops scissored up the street, advancing on either sides and laying down covering fire for each other. The hover-tanks and destroyers pumped death indiscriminately, pouring incoming missile, cannon, and machinegun fire into Enforcer positions. The batarians were beginning to obtain fire superiority and were moving in for the kill.

Rounds skipped and shattered against the masonry in front of him and Bankole felt a chunk of shrapnel slash into the side of his exposed face. He simply ignored the pain, keeping his stoic expression as he hunted for targets.

His demeanor was a sharp contrast to Maldini's, which was aggressive by Enforcer standards. Continuing to snarl savage curses while firing his AUG, Maldini hammered his shoulder with the machine gun, visibly shaking even through the plated armor while a pile of hot tungsten casing was gathering at his feet, sizzling into the ground.

Cimino appeared far more stressed than angry or calm. Bankole, when he wasn't shooting, could see her hands move like lightning, constantly patching up the wounded while simultaneously calling out targets, providing covering fire, or simply updating the squad with new information. Her role in the battle could not be discounted; juggling four different tasks was no easy feat, but it kept Saber in the fight longer.

On the far side of the line, Matz was by far the calmest in the squad, never once flinching as the battle began, even as shot soared by his head and grenades detonated nearby. He simply took cover or avoided the enemy's fire in a coldly efficient manner before returning fire of his own. The constant booming of his JO-2 seemed to become a fearful sound amongst the batarians, as they ducked every time they heard it fire. Bankole would hesitate to tell him, but Matz was depicting the epitome of Enforcer discipline: never giving in to his fear. As a result, he was having the unintended effect of motivating every Kommando and Grenadier within sight to stand their ground in pride.

On the other hand, Arnavisca appeared to be the most nervous, running low on missiles and having already switched to his MP12 submachine gun. It was clear by the look on his face that he questioned his usefulness to the squad. From witnessing his leadership, Maldini's bravery, and Matz's discipline, Bankole could see Arnavisca wonder if his contributions counted for anything. Regardless of his fear, he stood his ground fighting alongside what he obviously considered true heroes and hoped to be counted as one of them.

These were the men and woman of Saber-actual, all with their own personalities and quirks. A group of soldiers born from different nations into the same super-power watched and protected each other's backs like a family. It was this bond between them that kept them from breaking and it was the same bond that allowed them to fight like true Enforcers of humanity.

And like true Enforcers they would only stop once they were dead.

"Divide into fire sectors!" Bankole barked, single-handily creating new formations in his mind. "Gladius, Broadsword, and Stiletto form up on up the Pumas and focus on enemy snipers and rocket troopers! Toolkit, Hacker, Firewall, and Cyber-security, I want all of you to cover and assist Matterhorn and Olympe in taking out the enemy's armor and ready the Archer drones! Ural and Segura: suppress any infantry dumb enough to attack you!"

Despite any differences in rank, Kommando and Grenadier platoons followed Bankole's orders without complaint. The hybrid combinations swirled into place, reforming with the speed of professional soldiers; the action appearing to confuse whomever was in charge of the batarian forces, throwing their ranks into disorder. Pumas and Kommandos rearranged themselves into a new assault pattern, while Grenadiers, Panthers, and even Badgers suppressed the enemy with everything they had. Within minutes the Enforcers had managed to regroup, bringing the majority of Kommandos to unify with the remaining Pumas on the flanks while the Grenadiers, Panthers, and Badgers were re-positioned in the center with Saber at the helm.

Even with the freezing water drenching his boots, data spread across his HUD in a migraine-inducing fashion, Explosions hammered him, shaking his teeth. Sweat poured down his brow. Incoherent yells filled his radio. Metal and granite sparked, chipping as wave upon wave of bullets raked over him; yet not once did Bankole ever complain. Bankole rose out of cover, sighting another batarians, and fired again. The air screamed in protest around his ears, as hundreds of rounds hammering the charging batarians infantry and vehicles.

He heard a truncated scream and another Grenadier vanished. Bankole quickly led his squad to a new section of the wall as their previous cover shattered.

"Hold your line!" Bankole screamed, raising his rifle once again. The whole line of Enforcer infantry and vehicles opened fire in a devastating fusillade. A river of tracers, glittering like a blizzard, raced towards the batarians. Tank shells and IFV missiles obliterated hover-tanks and destroyers as they neared ever closer the wall, blown apart but still charging.

"Bring it you alien bastards!" Maldini's AUG ran empty and he started to reload as batarian soldiers began targeting him, forcing entire squads to take cover under the assault. Bankole ignored their attempts to kill them, covering Maldini as he opened the AUG's chamber and placed a fresh belt. Once set, he raised his machinegun and opened anew.

Task complete, Bankole shifted over so he could watch the cold professional. Matz had a good angle, as always; it was an instinct for him. Like the flooding water rushing through the street, hundreds of light infantry were pushing through the opened ground while ignoring the river of fire pouring down on them. He didn't hesitate to put another enemy down, adding to his massive kill count. It was already recorded in the squad records how Matz had surpassed the hundred hit mark an hour ago, and he seemed far from being done. It did Bankole's soul good, to see the man load another magazine into the J0-2, continuing the tedious task of cutting down the enemy's number.

He saw Arnavisca fumbled for a magazine, loading it into his MP12 before settling into a firing stance and set its sights on the approaching batarians. Bankole covered the Grenadier, pouring suppressive fire into batarian squads to throw them off target. Arnavisca silently thanked the lieutenant, his weapon shaking in his hands as he fired a protracted burst. He was able to stay reasonably on target, downing two batarians as they tried to change cover.

Behind another crumbling wall segment slightly behind Saber's leader, Cimino quickly slung her OBR-5 grenade launcher into place and pumped four EMP grenades into the batarians ranks. Their weaponry and barriers were easily short-circuited by the electro-magnetic pulses reducing their effectiveness to scraps of metal and ceramics. Entire squads of batarian soldiers suddenly found themselves unarmed and unarmored; not a good discovery in the middle of a battle. They were easily cut down by nearby Kommandos. She seemed to be trying her best to keep the batarians at a distance, but they seemed driven to take the base at all costs.

Just as it seemed as if the batarians and Enforcers were about to collided, Bankole gave the order.

"Detonate the mines! Grenadiers, shields and Archers! Kommados fire lasers, Badgers and Panthers go hot!"

The batarians then received a first-hand experience in Enforcer war doctrine. Anti-personal mines detonated in a bone-searing rumble, sending batarian limbs and body parts flying everywhere. The shockwave forced the charge to regain momentum, throwing it off step. But the explosions were followed up with Thermal High Energy Lasers, fired from Archers and Kommandos, completely eradicating the front-line of batarians soldiers, easily bypassing shields, melting armor, and charring the flesh underneath. The Grenadiers were protected from small arms fire, thanks in part to their shields; but their active denial system soon scattered the batarians soldiers, making them easy prey for Kommando snipers. Others were completely driven mad by the power emitters from Badgers and Panthers.

The hover-tanks and destroyers weren't fazed in the slightest, closing the distance to Dubar to a hairs length. A few even managed to break through the walls like glass, utterly crushing any soldiers behind it. They paid for their arrogance, eliminated by Grenadiers firing missiles at near point-blank range, giving the rest of the Enforcer vehicles a chance to focus on the remaining enemy mechanized attack. EMP bursts, heavy and light machine gun fire, and TLELs completely wiped out the barriers of many batarian hover-tanks and destroyers, leaving them exposed to the massive retribution they were about to receive.

Deprived of the chance to use their greatest advantage, and forced into a stagnate frontline engagement, the Federation vehicles managed to turn the tables by using another trick up their sleeve: rate of fire. Microwave enhanced shells, auto-targeting FORGAT missiles, and Electro-magnetic slugs bombarded the advancing enemy vehicles with impunity. The batarians tanks were like deer caught in the headlights, unable to counter the onslaught. Tons of metal cried out in pain, their screeching audible even over the raging storm.

" _Saber, be advised. Hailstorms are on their away for danger close support."_ Bando warned across the airwaves.

"Affirmative, general." Bankole replied, taking out a laser designator. He activated its keening power supply, and trained it on the advancing batarians. "You heard the general. Saber hold out for a few more minutes!"

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi Airspace**

 **Enforcer Wing 74, 32** **nd** **Aviation Division**

" _Guardian squadron, you are cleared for liftoff,"_ came the strained voice of the local air traffic controller. _"Feeding strike mission to you now, over."_

"Guardian lead, acknowledged and receiving," Commander Dennis Gates replied as his engines whined, the sound dampeners in his helmet failing to block all of the noise. Telemetry data, flight plans, and targets spilled over his Heads-Up Display, a river of information flowing past his eyes. He picked out the necessary data with practiced ease, re-organizing it with a few blinks and eye-movements. This was his squadron's first strike mission against the batarians forces swarming the city; the majority of the air defense had been carried out by the Russians, Chinese, and Alliance pilots. Now it was time to show what Federation pilots could do.

"Guardian, sound off," Gates snapped over his radio. A series of all-green checks from the rest of the wing responded.

" _Lead, this is Guardian-two,"_ Called Captain Colin Munro, Gate's second in command. _"There's some serious action going on at Dubar, I assume that is where we are headed?"_

"Tower, Guardian lead, is everything under control out there?" Gates asked. New Denver's central control tower was silent for a moment, before responding.

" _Batarian forces are attacking Dubar in force,"_ came the controller's reply. _"General Bando reports that they are seriously outnumbered and General Williams has ordered danger close fire mission against batarian aircraft, armor, and infantry."_

" _So basically everything."_ said Lieutenant Edward Hans, Guardian's third pilot and the squadron's ace.

" _Are you complaining?"_ Captain Emily Striker, Guardian Four, teased.

" _No it just means I get to show the enemy my skills."_

" _Uh-uh."_

"Cut the chatter," Gates ordered, before addressing the controller. "I copy on the situation, anything else?"

" _No."_

"Understood," Gates replied grimly. "Guardians, lift and follow heading," The Hailstorm's engines roared louder as he flicked a switch, setting them to full power. The sound increased exponentially as the remaining aircraft joined him. Gates engaged his thrusters and the EF-1 Hailstorm leapt into the gray sky, transponder flashing 'Guardian-lead' to the rest of his squadron. Vaguely, he could feel the gee force pushing him back into his seat, but he had enough experience to where it was only a distant sensation at these speeds. The board under his fingertips lit up, flashing blue dots across its breadth. If what it indicated was true, nearly two hundred Hailstorms and fifty Martels had been deployed into the battle, Enforcer pilots more than ready to lay waste to the batarian's air force.

Gates climbed fast nearly vertically, gaining altitude with his eyes trained on the stormy heavens, watching the rest of the wing falling into formation. The heavy storm spilled rain on his canopy's cockpit, slightly reducing visibility. He shrugged. That's why instruments were installed.

The airfield dropped away beneath them as wing cut east, towards the defensive engagement raging less than sixteen kilometers from the airbase. Green hills and forests began to flash past below, with clusters of buildings adding bits of brown and black to the blur. It was difficult to tell where urban areas ended and countryside began; the forests and the cities had been tightly integrated, crammed together really, in the relatively limited amounts of space.

Gates checked the overlay of the local battlefield as he closed in. With all major comm buoys and relays knocked offline, or destroyed by enemy forces, the Enforcer wing was only able to perceive a narrow window of what was going on. Allied army units were spread out in the city beneath them, fighting a retreating battle, and on the overlay, Gates could see Alliance units outnumbered at least three to one by batarians signatures.

"Golf-Hotel three, this is Guardian lead, standing by for targets, over."

" _Copy Guardian lead,"_ came a reply, and in the background of the transmission Gates could hear the roar of gunfire and explosions. _"Feeding targeting data to you now. Be advised, enemy bogeys are heading through your flight path, over."_

"Understood, three and thanks," Gates replied, checking his monitor as dots appeared. Telemetry data spilled across his display, highlighting the first targets he received as cerulean squares. A squadron of enemy bombers were about to drop their payload on friendly forces; a small battle group that was currently performing a long-range duel with enemy artillery. Gates had other plans in mind, his sensors onboard confirming a good target lock. He hit the fire button on his flight stick and watched as four red rays of pure energy split through the sky, colliding with the first bomber. The four fire linked proton beam emitters were designed through punched through titanium grade armor. The lightly-armored bomber was less durable by an order of magnitude letting the proton beams turn it into a rather expensive cheese grater.

The rest of Guardian squadron opened fire, with similar end results. The enemy bomber flight was completely shot out of the sky, leaving no trace of their existence but trailing smoke trails and wreckage on the ground.

" _Confirm kills,"_ Hans reported.

The ominous red flashing letters of radar lock warning soon appeared on Gate's HUD and he whipped his flight stick around while cutting the thrusters power, performing a sharp maneuver. Cursing under his breath, he deployed his fighter's ECM decoy while making sure his E-warfare suites was fully powered. The radar warning alarm ceased, indicating the successful evasion.

"All units be advised, enemy AA radar is active and scanning!" he shouted. He heard acknowledgements as he scanned the ground and air for targets. While primarily made for engaging enemy aircraft, the Hailstorm's Cadogan missiles were more than a match for enemy armor.

" _Guardian lead, enemy air and ground forces identified,"_ Collins reported. She sounded a bit gleeful, not that Gates could blame her.

A flow of data spilled across Gate's monitor, more information than a human could be reasonably to process. He had a solid view of more than a thousand aerial contacts across the area, but filtered through them with practiced ease. The odds were dramatically against them; even with the other national forces helping, they barely had a fifth of the enemy's number.

"Got them on radar," Gates said, nodding to himself. "All squadrons dispersed and engage enemy air forces. Do not, I repeat do _not_ get separated from your partners. I want this done right." With near parade ground efficiency all twenty squadrons separated, peeling off from each other to gain enough space to use their speed and advantages to maximum effect.

Once in proper formation, Guardian squadron gunned their engines on their Hailstorms, all ten sleek fighters moving out ahead of the formation to engage the contacts. They lanced over the landscape, screaming forth and hunting for their prey.

The moment his radar signaled a firing solution, Gates activated his heavy Ultra-violet laser cannon. Even in the gray conditions, the bright purple laser illuminated the heavens as the entire wing followed Gates example. Over twenty enemy contacts were destroyed in the blink of an eye before they even knew what had hit them. The rest of the enemy fighters scattered, turning to engage the newly arrived Hailstorms. While it was incredibly accurate, and had more energy and range than almost any other type of ordnance, the Ultra-violet laser required more time to recharge. Its firing rate was limited to two shots per minute. However, the one laser wasn't their only offensive weapon.

" _Confirmed contact,"_ Striker reported. _"Engaging now."_

The Hailstorms split up just as the lasers streaked towards their targets. The first salvo lanced into the batarian fighters, claiming over thirty of them, burning through vulnerable engine pods with inhuman precision and easily melting through the light armor. The rest of the enemy fighters dodged the attack, already starting their maneuvers as the Hailstorms opened fire.

Gates slide aside, gunning his engines to full power to close in fast. They were moving into range now, even with only a kilometer apart. The only weapons the lighter batarians fighters carried were mass accelerator turrets and disruptor torpedoes, but they had an astonishing rate of fire for their guns.

A second volley of lasers erupted from the Hailstorms. They evaporated the falling rain into steam, literally _sizzling_ towards the batarian fighters as the Guardian squadron performed a split attack, closing off escape routes, firing a volley of missiles to strike down six fighters. The volley was over in a moment, leaving the squadron to spread apart once more to engage other targets. The smoking husks of shattered enemy aircraft scattered across the landscape below, inky smoke tracing their fuel sections. Gates off-handedly wished they had been engaging over non-urbanized terrain, the city had already suffered enough damage.

Then, crystal blue rounds lanced through the air, dancing and tracing straight corridors of sheer heat all around him. Gates immediately hauled back on the stick, chocking back his speed for half a second and then slamming the engines at full power. He screamed up above the fighters firing on him, throwing off their targeting and stated to descend even as they began to ascend to engage.

Then all batarians fighters spontaneously erupted in a huge ball of flame.

" _Guardian lead, this is three. I got your back."_

Gates let a small smirk appear on his face. He had to hand to Hans, the guy had timing. But now the tactical situation had changed. At this close range, Gates had to save his missiles for ground contacts.

"Guardian squadron, disengage. Switch to missiles and descend altitude. We're here to help our men on the ground and that is what we are going to do." He didn't like being exposed, but the help was needed below.

" _Copy, lead,"_ Collins replied. _"Let's take some pressure off of our men. Guardian squadron, fall in line."_ Eight other voices ringed in agreement, each one pulling off from the air battle and heading to the ground to begin their hunt.

Smoke choked the sky beneath them, fires blazed throughout the city as they shot south. Under such conditions and at the rate he was going, Gates couldn't hope to pick out individual soldiers or small vehicles. But he did see the obvious signs of an armored assault in his flight path, a steady stream of explosions and rising dusts clouds, spread along a length ribbon of urban terrain.

Gates looked back to the north, where the majority of the Enforcer wing was doing their best to destroy or delay the enemy aircraft, and knew they would be engaging in seconds. Within moments, the insistent warning of a pending radar lock began to sound in his ears.

" _Targets are sorted, commander,"_ Collins reported in his ear.

"Copy Guardian-two," Gates replied, and his fingers tightened around the thumb trigger.

The sixty Cadogan missiles each fighter carried were designed to generate intense, area-of-effect explosive destruction that could tear apart enemy space vessels. They were built to punch through thick armor in space, where collateral damage wasn't an issue, so the idea of using them on the ground – in an urban center no less – and so close to their own troops was something the designers had never thought off. But he didn't have a choice.

Gates selected his targets, and then depressed the thumb trigger. Immediately, the two thousand-pound missiles leapt away. Each missile diverted on a slightly different course, targets downloaded into their hardware. Once the missiles were away, no amount of electronic interference could stop them, by virtue of the simple reason that once they were away, they didn't need jam-able electronic input to correct their aim.

Guardian squadron peeled away, deploying their countermeasures even as they deployed their ordnance as well. They dropped low over the city, the Hailstorm's electronic warfare suite catching any enemy AA fire and either detonating them pre-maturely or out-right diverting them. Moments later, the released ordnance hit the massive swarm of enemies below, blowing them apart in a mixture of burning debris and vaporized flesh.

"We're clear Guardian squadron, disengage." Gates ordered. The rest of Guardian squadron obeyed, gaining altitude and returning north, heading into the rest of the batarians fighters with deadly intent.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Battlegroup 753 (Assault), 83** **rd** **Enforcers**

Bankole kept his laser unnecessarily focused on the center of the enemy formation all through the bombardment, and found himself watching with fascination as the Hailstorms screamed overhead, deploying their munitions. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

The explosives rained down, each pre-programmed by the data provided by his designator, which he belatedly put down. It was an example of networked, coordinated warfare at its finest. Each missile found a target and accelerated toward the batarians soldiers even as they heard screaming sonic passage of the Hailstorms. The smarter, more experienced ones were already yelling for cover, or that's what Bankole assumed as he saw them diving behind whatever safety they could find.

Six dozen individually-guided missiles detonated a heartbeat later. They were loaded with high-explosive warheads, the complex devices within each detonating with seven tons of TNT.

It was like a sword of righteous fury cut through the enemy ranks.

At least that was what Bankole thought as he saw sheets of silvery fire rain down upon the batarians troops, the ground actively _rippling_ with a staccato of immense, earth-shivering explosions. The Hailstorms' payloads scattered, spreading among the batarians attackers, tearing them apart and setting whatever else was still alive ablaze.

Cheers broke through the Enforcer ranks at the sight. They were saved. They had won. Or so they thought before the loud chatter of alien tongue and the sound rumbling of tires enveloped the atmosphere. While the Enforcers had been busy dealing with the threat to the north, they had ignored their western flank were an enemy company had slowly been building up strength. A large enemy battalion had also arrived from the northeast. The majority wore a different set of uniform than the previous ones the Enforcers had fought.

"Command, the enemy is committing the rest of his forces we need another airstrike now!" Bankole cried into his earpiece.

A harried voice responded with gratifying swiftness. _"I'll see what I can do, but the majority of Wing 74 is bogged down trying to keep the enemy's aircraft from demolishing this base. EMP missiles are ready and deploying; they should give you an edge."_

"Understood," Bankole replied grimly. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was more than expected. He gazed at his brother and sisters, noticing their fatigued postures.

Two hundred and seventeen Enforcers stood guard at the walls, supplemented by fifty Rainbow Six operatives. Six Pumas, eight Panthers, five Badgers, and even Bando's personal Charlemagne were all that remained on the frontlines. The Marksmen artillery and Cheetah gunships had remained untouched throughout the entire battle. This was all that was left of two entire battle groups of the Federation's best.

Many were wounded; all were exhausted, and ammunition was nearly gone. Alliance reinforcements had yet to arrive, their air cover had fallen back to rearm, and the majority of Dubar's defensive walls had been destroyed. All that was left was the rubble, and the remaining defenders digging in, prepared to deny the enemy his prize.

For on the other side of the field came over three thousand batarians soldiers, supplemented by ninety hover-tanks and seventy destroyers, all charging directly at them. It could have been considered insanity to stand against such a large force, but for the men and women of Saber they had long since abandoned sanity to the wind.

Lieutenant Bankole was exhausted. He was bleeding from multiple wounds, the majority of his armor embedded with the rounds of enemy fire, and his hands had long gone numb. Even for weapons, he was down to his E60 pistol, but if there were notches involved, the butt would no longer support the barrel. As it was, Bankole proudly stood, facing the men and women defending Dubar, even as death rapidly approached him from behind.

"Let no one here question our place in history," he growled, eyeing every soul bravely standing in defiance. "That we are here right now is no coincidence or accident, it is our fate; and this war, our birth right, our legacy… our generation was born to fight the batarians, and you my fellow soldiers were born for this very day!" He saw as energy flowed from his words onto them, suddenly becoming revitalized in the horrible situation. Turning around, he pointed at the advancing batarians, his eyes bright with an almost holy fervor. "Today they will hear the roar of humanity and they will fear us! Today we stand united! Today we stand as free men, and though they may take our lives, they can never… take… our… FREEDOM! FOR EUROPA …!

"VICTORY ALWAYS!"

The sounds of weapons reloading filled the atmosphere drowned out by the raging sky. Water poured down upon the Enforcers, seemingly baptizing them in the middle of the battle. And then all hell broke loose.

Screaming missiles, booming cannon fire, roaring engines, and cries of batarians soldiers dominated the battlefield as the enemy made one last desperate push. The sounds of men and women alike howling in agony as their bodies were torn to bloody shreds filled Bankole's ears. He saw the concrete and brick constructs of the city, once proud and majestic, now lying crumbled and shattered under the relentless onslaught of heavy weapons fire.

The Enforcers were not left idled either, firing everything they had at their disposal. Lasers cut through batarians flesh, electromagnetic slugs impacted shields, and Microwave emitters and shells burned through metal. Forced to abandon their own code - to protect and deny - the Enforcers switched their sonic emitters setting to lethal, causing many charging batarians to literally be steamed alive.

Shrapnel rained around him. A man screamed nearby, a commonplace sound now. Corpsmen ran from body to body up and down the line, dodging between intact sections of the blasted three-meter wide concrete barrier, under constant fire. The base's watch towers roared and chattered, streams of death falling from their heights.

The batarians infantry came charging across the hundreds of meters of open space between Dubar and the civilian structures, hover-tanks, hard shells, light and heavy infantry groups boiling between them like a dark tide pure death and savagery. Torrents of mass accelerator fire flew from the civilian structures as riflemen, snipers, and machine gunners poured fire into the defenders' lines.

The field between the buildings and Dubar was already gouged and cratered. Now it was becoming littered with burning corpses and metal husks. Dozens of hover-tanks had been destroyed by rocket and grenade fire, yet more continued to come, maneuvering around the bodies of the ruined vehicles. Batarian infantry bounded from cover to cover, using the ruined hulks of transports and tanks as barricades and shelter.

Unknown to the batarians, they had walked into a major trap.

"Command, this is Bankole. The batarians are advancing; we need the EMP missiles now!"

" _Solid copy, lieutenant. Deploying electronic warfare attacks. Stand strong and beat these savages back!"_

"With pleasure," Bankole replied.

Soaring overhead, descending upon the batarians were three EMP missiles strikes cutting a swathe in the ocean of gray. Once they reached their destination they each erupted, sending static bursts across the battlefield. At first the batarians were expecting another airstrike, apparently terrified that such an attack might swing the tide of the battle. However, they were relieved to find that the missiles didn't carry a payload, ignorant that the Enforcers had momentarily left them defenseless.

The onslaught came when the nearest batarians near the wall fired, or tried to. The look of shock at their weapons' unresponsiveness was visible from the middle of Dubar's courtyard. Little by little, understanding fell upon the batarians, each tensing as they realized they were incapable of returning fire, a disadvantage the Enforcers lacked.

Unspoken orders flew through the remaining Enforcers, opening fire as one. Kommandos utilized their lasers and rifles to wreak havoc on the beast that dared to tread upon their holy gates. Grenadiers threw their own EMP grenades, prolonging the effects on the enemy infantry, stripping their defenses beyond repair. The Federation engineers contributed greatly to the defense, firing SMGs and MILANAs in the hopes that the light infantry and vehicles would be able to finish the job. Pumas and Badgers targeted the hover-tanks with immense prejudice, desiring to eliminate as many as possible before the EMPs effects wore off. As for the Panthers, they displayed their superiority by destroying each of the batarian hard shells one-by-one, eliminating over twenty five in the small window of opportunity. Artillery shells rained down upon them from above, the Marksmen firing their MLRS' to maximize the carnage.

Then the sky screamed in protest and eyes turned upward just as explosions rippled across the ground, spreading over the killing field north of Dubar like rivers of hell spilling over the land. Chain gun, rockets, and precision guided missiles, set anything flammable ablaze in equal frenzy and those who could still see into the air spotted the forward-swept rotors of the Cheetah gunships as they roared past.

The attack craft wove back and forth, losing their ordnance in a continuous attack, three dozen lithe angels slicing apart the sky like whirling scimitars. Tanks exploded, light vehicles burned, and batarians soldiers scattered when their positions were pounded by explosions of shrapnel and ribbons of rapacious flame. Shell casings rained by the thousands as the Cheetahs purged the line of batarians, emptying their magazines in a frenzy of airborne wrath.

In the span of a minute, the Cheetahs had cut a swath through twenty hard-shells, thirty-five hover-tanks, and several hundred enemy soldiers, leaving a wilderness of fire and twisted metal in their wake. Then, they peeled off, their munitions expended.

In the wake of the steel rain, the ground began to quake. It began slowly, ever increasing like the tempo of an orchestra being performed by Beethoven himself.

From the west they loomed, striding forward with arms outstretched to every human in the area and sent forth shards of ionized blue destruction that seared the eyes of the men watching from the walls. Smoke, dust, and flames rose from a field of broken corpses and twisted metal, wrapping about them and billowing off blackened carapace. They pushed through the hellish cloaks of dust, choking black stink, their eyes shining in the gloom, spears piercing into the defenders.

"Friendly armor!" Screamed a Kommando, both hands shooting up in the air in wild joy as another deafening explosion echoed across the grounds of Dubar, and more massive forms rumbled through the dust and smoke. They were a storm of steel, ablative, and hypervelocity of mass accelerator shells, a slow moving hurricane of fury, blood, and death.

Bankole pumped his fist. The Barracudas and Makos of the 12th Armored Company were on the field. The ecstatic cheers of the men and women who had been manning the first and last line of defense filled the air as their saviors arrived.

By then the EMPs effects had worn off, but it was too late. Down half their strength, the batarians threw caution to the wind and continued to fight in desperation. The remains of the battalion split off to engage both targets, heavy and light infantry charging at the walls assisted by the majority of hover-tanks. The rest of their force met the new arrivals in the open field, and the battle was joined.

The dust, fire, and smoke around the chaotic haze rose up, clouding the battlefield as mass accelerator slugs filled the air. The entire world shuddered, and every crack of a coil-gun firing was like a fist to the ears. The thundering roll of the destroyers, the deadly deep boom of their mass accelerator cannons firing, the grinding treads of the Alliance Calvary resounding like distorted battle cries and the bone-cracking detonations of their blasting cannons.

It was without a doubt, Judgment Day.

Crushing bodies under treads, hurling slabs of concrete like pieces of paper, and smashing through steel, the Alliance armored company met the batarians armor head on in a colliding wave of noise and fury. The air was filled with explosions and gore, staining the very ground the Enforcers swore to protect.

Then dark shapes swarmed across the gaps between burning corpses and broken metal. Rockets flew back and forth, detonating among the advancing batarians troops and blowing chunks out of the wall. Screaming mortar shells exploded on all sides, pelting the defenders with shrapnel. Burnt flesh and corpse-stink choked through re-breathers. Over the din of war, the alien chants of the batarians could be heard, led by several carrying what could only be described as the enemy's flag, then the batarians rushed through enough gunfire that would drop sane men. The sight of an enemy charge send shivers down the Enforcer's spine, but one Kommando in particular would meet the fear head-on.

Bankole fired his pistol rapidly with excellent precision. He ducked behind the wall as another bullet sizzled past and slammed into a building behind him. Popping his head out over the wall to gain a better view, he sighted his target and pulled the trigger. It took multiple hits, but the batarian went down. He swept his E60 toward another incoming enemy, even as a hover-tank exploded less than two dozen meters ahead. Shrapnel deflected off of the plating covering his body, forcing him to duck behind cover. As soon as the debris stopped raining, he rose.

Getting on the radio, Bankole transmitted to any remnants of his squad. "To all Saber fire teams, this is Saber-actual fall back! I repeat fall back to the inner barricades!" As he radioed his orders, Saber-actual was already on their way towards the rendezvous point alongside other infantry squads.

 _"Saber-_ _actual, this is Saber-four we are down to two men, regrouping with Saber-two! We'll see you at the rendezvous point over and out."_

 _"This is Saber-three, we're currently in a bad position with Gladius and Surgeon! We have no cover and zero chance of making it to the fall back point. We'll buy you guys and the rest of the battle group …"_ The radio operator was unable to finish, the loud sound of a mortar detonating was easily heard over the gunfire.

A batarian soldier, not even five meters away, face twisted in euphoric barbarism, charged at Bankole erratically firing his rifle from the hip. Brass rained through the air, bullets bounced and shattered concrete and bounced off of the soldier's shields.

Bankole rapidly pressed the trigger on his E60, microwave rounds lancing straight into the soldier's chest. The effects then burst from the embedded wounds a heartbeat later; creating a sensation inside the batarian's body as if it was being set ablaze from within. The batarian howled in agony, twisting and thrashing as he slowly bleed off from his wounds, but Bankole paid him no mind.

More batarians troops were charging around the corpse of the hover-tank, scrambling toward the wall. They ran over debris, firing rifles, tossing grenades, yelling battle cries and fervent chants. Bankole spun toward a pair running toward him, their rifles blazing, and fired.

He had barely enough time to react, holding down the trigger on full automatic. The two batarians cried out in pain as they were taken down by a superior foe. Bankole cursed as another wave of bullets impacted his shields, nearly causing them to collapse. He was forced back into cover, patiently waiting for them to regenerate and another opportunity to strike.

Grabbing an EMP grenade strapped to his armor, Bankole pulled the pin and the electrical fuse inside began to immediately count down. He chucked the grenade towards the enemy as they swarmed toward him. The grenade detonated, the resulting electro-magnetic pulse frying the gear of three unlucky batarians before being easily cut down in the massacre. He then grabbed another grenade, and then another as more and more batarians came over the wall.

The batarians were too close now, almost within arm's reach. Bankole raised his weapon before feeling a vicious punch to one of his legs. He then tumbled backward behind the wall. A squad of batarians climbed over it a moment later. Bankole's sidearm cracked twice, blowing one soldier's neck apart and cutting through the mouth of the other. They toppled off the wall, one of them landing beside him.

Before the third had the chance to fire, Bankole rolled over the dead batarian, pulling the batarians body over his as a human shield. As he'd anticipated the batarians fired upon the Kommando, but the majority of the shots were blocked by the dead body. First Bankole fired the E60's secondary ordnance, the EMP burst draining any shields the batarians may have had before being killing them with conventional rounds.

The fourth appeared smarter than the rest, firing of a concussive shot from the left that literally blew Bankole's organic shield to smithereens. The remaining batarian then fired his rifle as he moved in for the kill, entirely collapsing Bankole's shield. With his pistol's magazine being emptied and no time to reload, Bankole squabbled for the nearest weapon, which happened to be an enemy's M-15 Vindicator on the ground nearby. However, the remaining batarians saw what the Kommando was trying to do and before Bankole could raise the rifle, he was knocked back by a kick from the batarian. The alien then activated his own omni-blade and swung at Bankole. Before the blade could connect, Bankole raised his forearm, the omni-blade becoming embedded in his flesh. Luckily the reinforced gauntlets prevented it from going any deeper otherwise it would have completely sliced his entire arm off before impacting his skull.

Bankole cried out in pain as the four-eyed alien stood above him in an air of superiority. With defiance in his eyes, he activated his own omni-blade, its light shined bright in the darkness enveloping the battlefield, and struck. The batarian was unable to react fast enough as the blade sliced its way through its neck, completely decapitating him. Blood sprayed from the disgorged neck, soaking him in yellow liquid.

Bankole tired to stand, but pain flared up his leg as he rose. He gasped, rising to one knee and could see another batarian trooper clambering up over the wall. The enemy soldier raised its rifle at Bankole, who was now at this point defenseless.

Before the batarian could fire however, two familiar thundering sounds echoed through the air. The enemy trooper was soon knocked backward by heavy firepower as two rounds impacted the neck and chest. Bankole barely managed to see the curving smoke trails left behind, which meant the rounds had auto-corrected in mid-flight, which in turn signaled only one thing…

Cranking his head around, Bankole saw Matz leading the rest of Saber-actual.

"Lieutenant, are you alright?" Cimino asked.

"I'm fine," he replied dryly. Based on her facial expression, it was clear Cimino didn't believe him, but didn't press the issue.

"Sir, with all due respect I suggest we fall back!" Maldini shouted, firing alongside Arnavisca.

"Agreed, sergeant. Get to cover, Saber!" The remnants of the squad didn't have to be told twice, retreating in an orderly fashion while also maintaining covering fire for the rest of the fleeing Enforcers.

Up and down the line, the batarians were coming up and over the wall. Carried forward by numbers, and if the looks on their faces were any indication –pain-suppressive substances – and raw hatred, they hurled themselves at the cracking Enforcer line, dying by the dozens and seeming to not care.

Fire sprayed across the fields as hover-tanks pushed forward, bulling through missile fire and grenades. Hard-shells threaded between them, while suicide buggies zipped through the gaps. Emerging through the smoke-streaked afternoon air came swooping enemy bombers, disgorging payloads across the line, vaporizing both batarians and humans with equal fury.

Even with the Alliance reinforcements in play, it seemed victory was in the batarians' grasp.

 _"All units, be advised we have Hailstorms making another attack run, but they need target acquisition on enemy targets. Recommend designators or flares, the battle lines are a mess right now. Use of civilian militia has been authorized and are en route to relief the frontlines."_ Bando's transmission had a clear effect on the Enforcers. If civilians were being used, then it meant the situation had become all, but hopeless.

"Sir, did I hear the general correctly? We're going to use civilians!?" Arnavisca asked, conflict etched in his face.

"We have no choice," Bankole replied. Grabbing a MP12 SMG from a fallen grenadier, he led his squad forward against suicidal odds in the hopes that their sacrifice would mean something. "All Enforcers deploy flares on enemy positions and prepare for danger close air support. Anyone still remaining on the wall fall back now!"

Taking cover behind a destroyed Panther, Saber attempted to hold a gap in the line. Grenadiers and Kommandos lay dead throughout the battlefield, with the innumerable bodies of more batarians surrounding them. Yet even more of the aliens continued advancing undisturbed, moving faster with the last of the Federation's best, dead under their feet.

A tank destroyer suddenly crashed through the wall, running over a pair of Grenadiers who attempted to halt the bulldozing juggernaut. A Badger appeared on its left, firing off its FORGAT missiles and EMP disruptor. The disruptor managed to collapse the destroyer's shields and the FORGAT missiles severely wounded the beast, but it was not enough to kill it. Rotating its main gun, it lined up its target. The Badger attempted to retreat, only for a mass accelerator slug to halt any movement. The Badger erupted in flames, thrown completely on its side.

Again the destroyer spun its cannon around, finding another target. Saber held its breath: the destroyer's target was the main command center. Archer and Eaglefly drones did their best to draw its fire away, buzzing through its line of sight like swallows after a tasty insect. Then a detonation rocked the vehicle. All eyes turned to the right to see who or what had fired the ordnance. Immediately, Bankole's heart dropped.

Charging directly toward the tank, with only a rifle and a few grenades was none other than Eric. The brave boy managed to avoid the destroyer's main cannon as it was unable to rotate its cannon fast enough and with its turret knocked offline, Eric took advantage. Upon reaching the destroyer, Eric climbed on top of it, spraying the few crew men that attempted to climb out of the destroyer with rifle fire. With undisciplined fire, Eric unloaded an entire magazine into the batarians from the hip. The boy was clearly unprepared to handle the rifles recoil, wasting numerous rounds, but was still able to kill the batarians. Climbing to the canopy, Eric pulled open the entrance tank, suppressing anyone inside with more erratic fire before pulling a grenade and throwing it inside. The boy then ran over to the destroyer's edge, jumping from it just as the grenade claimed everyone inside. Still, Eric landed hard on the dirt face first, with no proper training or conditioning for combat.

"Holy shit," Maldini whispered in disbelief.

"Eric! Eric! ERIC!" Bankole bellowed, running as fast as he could towards the boy. Eric glanced up and saw Bankole. He tried his best to make his way over.

"Lieutenant, wait!" Cimino shouted. Bankole ignored her protests, stubbornly continuing to run towards the boy.

"I did it, I did it," Eric hollered in mixed fear and excitement. Bankole paid no attention to the boy's feats, only occupied with reaching him and ensuring his safety.

They were just under two hundred meters from each other when a squad of batarians appeared behind Eric, training their sights on the fleeing boy. Without warning they fired their weapons, the rounds cutting through the boys flesh. Unsurprisingly, the boy collapsed to the ground, blood draining from his wounds.

"NO!" Bankole roared, wide eyed and finally reaching his limit. For the first time in his life he felt anger, true unbridled rage and hatred, and what was once a highly trained Enforcer was momentarily a bloodlust avenger. In their moment of arrogance, the batarians did not consider their actions nor have the wisdom to retreat. Instead, believing themselves equal to the raging, charging Kommando, they made the terrible choice to advance.

Mass accelerator rounds bounced off of his shields as Bankole closed the distance, roaring the war cries of his native land and terrible oaths against the aliens. Firing from his hip as he closed the distance, Bankole collapsed the shield of a single batarian before the empty click sound of was heard. Luckily for him he was already in arms reach of the batarians and activated his omni-blade.

He cut through the first batarian's midsection with a vicious horizontal slash before bringing the blade up, swinging it diagonally downward, decapitating the first batarian trooper. It was a mere stutter-step forward to his next target, a batarian who was attempting to bring up his sidearm. Unfortunately for him, Bankole's blade collided with his flesh first, completely severing the arm. Before the batarian could cry in agony, Bankole grabbed him behind the head and swung him around, impaling the alien's face on a protruding piece of debris. The last two batarians managed to eject their overheated thermal clips before the insane Kommando could reach any closer. They each managed to fire a few shots, the rounds cutting through Bankole's armor and right into his body, but he didn't notice.

Stabbing another batarian right through the gut, Bankole lunged forward in a roll, using the batarian's body as a human shield as he did before, managing to avoid the oncoming barrage of rounds from the last batarian. In mid-lunge, Bankole managed to grabbed the batarian's weapon and by the time he came to his knees he had a weapon at the ready while the last batarian had to eject his clip. Shouting at the top of the lungs, he riddled the alien before him with dozens of holes, continuing to fire even after the threat was eliminated.

With his act of vengeance complete, Bankole collapsed to his knees, his body completely exhausted and badly wounded, but even in that state he continued to crawl. His visor was cracked, HUD flickering, and while his hands were stained with batarians yellow blood, multiple gashed on his armor were trimmed with blood of his own. His reserve capacitor whined, boosting his shields back to optimal levels just as he reached Eric's body.

Tenderly lifting the boys head up, Bankole used the last of his medi-gel to treat Eric's injuries. He knew it was too late as the boy had already lost too much blood, but he continued to hold out hope.

"Did I do good?" Eric managed to say, coughing up blood. "In the end … did I become one of you?"

"The bravest of us all," Bankole replied, his voice hoarse and cracking. Tears were already forming on the edge of his eyes. "I am proud of you." A smile formed on the edge of Eric's face, contentment in the simple action. _'Why do the innocent have to suffer? Why did this boy have to meet an unjust end while the wicked continued to live? Why wasn't I strong enough to save the boy dying on my very knees? Why was the universe so cruel?'_

"You said to give this you to you once I became an Enforcer," Eric said, crying as he did so he reached into his pocket and held the insignia that Bankole had given him. "I want you to have it, sir to remember me. It hurts, sir. It hurts a lot."

Bankole didn't know what to say, letting the tears fall from his face as he watched the boy's spark slowly fade away.

"I just wanted to protect my family…"

"And you did Eric. You did."

Eric's body went still as he was claimed by the afterlife. Bankole continued to clutch the body in agony even as Saber reached him. Cimino placed a comforting hand on Bankole's shoulder, despite his unmoving features. Matz stood to the side, head down unable to watch the sight. Arnavisca kneeled in a sign of respect while Maldini's anger only grew.

Red smoke soon began to envelope the area to the east and west, signaling that the airstrike was underway. _"Guardian-lead here, all ground units prepare for danger close fire."_

The transmission did little to lift Saber's spirit, after witnessing the reward for such courage. Eric hadn't been a trained Enforcer … or a grown man. He wasn't even a teenager … just a child that refused to submit to the darkness that had engulfed his home.

"Holy shit, enemy destroyer!" Maldini yelled. The infamous sound of the death machine's wheels grinding against the ground was clearly audible given the short distance.

A sense of dread suddenly welled up inside Bankole as he glanced up… to see a hard-shell, its twin projections of death trained right at Saber, coming through of the smoke…

"GET DOWN!" Bankole wasn't sure what happened but as soon as he gave out the call he was tackled to the side, landing on the asphalt road hard as his head rang from the sudden impact. But soon after, he was deafened by a resounding boom that exploded from the cannon of the armored destroyer, just seconds before another rang out from its second gun.

It was the worst sensation that Bankole ever felt in his life…

The twin explosions created a wave of superheated air and debris that flung him like a ragdoll in a tornado. Shrapnel bit into his skin as Bankole tried to regain his bearings and fight off the pain that was coursing through him. He hit the ground hard, hitting his head and his back against the road.

As he lay there, bleeding out from his wounds, Bankole stared at the depressing sky with a deep sense of loss and sadness. Clutching the Enforcer emblem, the symbol he'd given to – and ultimately taken from Eric, the bravest soul he had ever met. He closed his eyes, waiting for the afterlife to take him. In the distance, he continued to hear the calls of his men, but was too tired from the loss to answer. Bankole just lay there and simply waited for his fate.

Fate was interrupted by a corpsman, suddenly in his side vision. "Easy sir, it's an easy through-and through," his hands felt rough, prodding at the plates on Bankole's side.

"I'm sorry Eric, I failed you," he muttered as his world finally went black.

* * *

 **Trivia:**

1\. The title is once again a tribute to the Enforcer motto, specifically the second part

2\. The Active Wave Emitters used by the Enforcers are already being used by modern militaries around the world.

3\. Other weaponry such as lasers are already in existence or are being currently developed as you are reading this sentence. Spooky huh?

4\. Dubar was inspired by many of Endwar's bases that are well fortified, despite some locations looking nothing like their real life counter-parts.

5\. Originally GSG-9 was supposed to take the cameo appearance of Rainbow Six, however the latter was chosen in order to tie in other parts of the Tom Clancy universe.

6\. Shanxi's codex and wiki entries are surprisingly vague on meteorological conditions, so a roughly Earth-like model was used. Snow, jungle, deciduous forest and temperature urban settings are all used.

7\. Armored vehicle warfare was modeled after WWII examples and the Yom Kippur War. Errors in description are the fault of the authors, not of physics or reality.

8\. Some scenes with streets come from cities around the USA. One of the authors, V-rcingetorix included descriptions of roads found Minot, North Dakota and Chicago, Illinois.

9\. Eric and his subsequent sacrifice was inspired by one boy from the movie Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale, available on Netflix. It is based on a true story and captures the beauty and tragedy that comes with the pursuit of independence and freedom. We attempted to do the same. After all, how many fics have made you either cry or have an emotional response?

10\. As of this moment, yours truly is celebrating his 19th birthday! December 24th is the day of my birth and I appreciate all the support. For a Christmas/Birthday present lets have our follows reach over 300! We can do it!

11\. Bankoles speech is inspired from many different sources, mostly notably from Brave heart and Halo.


	11. Chapter 11 - Dragon Rising

12-29-2156 0832 hours (Alliance Standard time)

 **Lowa rainforest**

 **Shanxi**

 **NCRA command center**

The broadcasted warning blared ominously inside the compound. Alarms, geared originally towards pirate attacks or the ever-present danger of international – now intergalactic – war now served another purpose: invasion from inhuman monsters; no one was safe. The planet-wide broadcast was a warning to the citizens of Shanxi of the evacuation. New Denver had fallen and Williams was on the run, but luckily he'd managed to get some intel on the batarians, mostly general information, nothing too specific. Elsewhere things were a bit better. Baja and the Gozevech District were being hit hard, but hadn't yet fallen. The entire combined human army was defending the colony as best they could, but the batarians seemed to be everywhere, tearing through the defenses like tissue paper.

General Chu watched officers running around hysterically. He shook his head at the sight; dignified, reputable men, driven to frantic distraction by the unknown. ' _Still, their task is important. The information must be sent.'_ He accepted another tablet, scanning its contents, then added it to the pile at his side. He contemplated the overflowing stack, considering its contents. In his grasp was everything needed to invade, from evacuations progress and friendly forces deployments to enemy landing zones and established frontlines. ' _Two years ago, I would have declared war, taking this colony for the glory of the NCRA. Now …_ he frowned at the sky … _now I pray the Alliance will not abandon us, or if lacking even that, that we will not die in vain.'_

Only the utmost self-control kept him from sweeping the mess off his desk in rage. The entirety of the Alliance army, the JSF, Enforcers, Spetsnaz Guard, and every Republic Army regiment had been mobilized against the batarian invasion. The civilians in the continent were being evacuated to human controlled territory, but there was nothing that could be done to stop the enemy raiders in the air. Evacuation procedures were being followed, but the monsters had killed indiscriminately, slaying the weak along with the strong. One report, buried in the pile, detailed how an attack had destroyed an entire convoy, killing over two hundred people.

More recent reports showed that school children had been ordered to take cover if the batarians got close enough, sending students to bunkers underneath the buildings. The evacuations were, to General Chu's great annoyance, taking extremely long. ' _The only thing I can do is watch, and wait. Defend the innocent, and make the foul desecrators of my people pay for every inch in blood.'_ The unfortunate truth was that the evacuation required massive numbers of shuttles, slowing his military responses to a crawl.

After a few moments of thinking, he noticed an incoming call, from one Lieutenant Zhan Bo. Unfortunately, the alarm made hearing the subordinate difficult. General Chu glanced at his assistant, raising an eyebrow.

The assistant nodded, reading the Chu's intent, and clicked off the alarm. Once the irritating noise stopped, Chu turned his attention back to the lieutenant on the vid-com. "The situation is dire, as you may suspect. Batarian forces are burning through our defenses faster than we can retreat. We have made progress, but will require a great feat of strength if we are to succeed." Tapping a few commands on his console, Chu brought up a hologram of a suburban area located merely four kilometers southeast of New Denver. "Lieutenant Bo, I need Ziax evacuated. There are over two thousand souls in that sector alone. I do not need to tell you the consequences, should the batarians gain victory there."

 _"Of course, sir,"_ Bo replied. _"We are proceeding to Ziax now, but we're being met with heavy resistance."_

"Not surprising based on what we've managed to have gathered. Alliance intel suggests you are going up against superior batarian forces. I suspect Special Forces, which is why you are getting a late Christmas gift, lieutenant." Chu replied. He brought up a 3D image of a large tank. It resembled the popular Type 99 tank of the 20th century, but was far stronger, carrying much heavier armaments and thicker plating. "I've requisitioned a Barracuda from the 32nd Armored. It should provide superior firepower as you proceed into Ziax."

 _"Shangri-La has a nasty hunger, sir,"_ Bo said. _"We'll make sure to use it effectively. If I may ask, sir, what's the ETA on the Makos?"_

"Forty-five minutes. You're on your own until then, I fear." Chu replied. He centered himself, internalizing the conflicting emotions. "I'm counting on your people. Save as many as you can. If we can't save our own people, we've already lost this war."

" _We'll make sure the enemy won't take it, Bo out."_ The connection was cut, leaving General Chu to deal with the mess occurring within his compound.

Outside a series of explosions forced the unprepared to cover their ears, as enemy aircraft dodged the compound's powerful defense grid. The remains of unsuccessful enemy aircrafts' were scattered across the woodland, strange blue smoke billowing from some of them.

The entire compound was protected by an efficient anti-aircraft system, ranging from missiles to Gatling guns and auto-cannons, protecting the area from enemy bombers. A few companies of batarians soldiers had tried to take the compound, but failed to cross the half-mile of scorched soil outside the compound walls. General Chu had worked hard, turning a once peaceful plot of jungle into a death trap. The rough terrain was hostile, augmented by fearsome predators dwelling beyond the kill-zone, extensive hard points in the base itself and above all, a company of NCRA soldiers ready to defend the base to their last breaths. With the current siege of the colony, Chu had authorized any means to slow down the invaders, even if it meant unleashing any and all WMDs.

Chu scowled at the latest report. The enemy had launched large numbers of drop-ships, fighters, and bombers to New Denver. Since they've practically taken it over, Chu strongly believed this was merely a show of strength to those that still remained in that god forsaken city. He was already trying to manage the entire evacuation as best as he could, but even the large quantities of his forces were starting to become overwhelmed. Scattered around the main holo-projector was the constant visual result of reports being placed by his assistants. Some listed the statuses of cities and settlements, some being besieged, a good percentage held by allies, others unknown, but the overwhelming majority captured by enemy forces.

Chu read over the data carefully. Each report was sent by allied forces stationed at those settlements, each of whom had a different perspective, emphasizing alternating characteristics of their implacable foe. Consequently, each report helped fill in the vast gaps that he still did not understand of the new enemy's tactics. Still, so much remained a mystery. The enemy's objective was crystal-clear, however: to take as many humans as slaves as possible.

He grasped the hilt of the family heirloom at his side, the leather-wrapped handle. The blade rang softly as he drew it partially from its sheath, compressed steel edge gleaming with a bloodthirsty glint. Chu paused before sliding it home again with deliberate force. He had drawn the heirloom only when seeking the death of enemies. It appeared he would soon have the opportunity to feed it once more. His eyes narrowed at the screen, pinning the red dots representing his foe as they neared ever closer to the base. He supposed he should be honored; the batarians had labeled him a potent threat and had sent a sizable force to eliminate him. Chu clutched the hilt tighter, knowing what was to come. ' _No more. I swear, I will save my people, or die trying.'_

* * *

 **Tonto, 2 kilometers from Ziax**

 **Shanxi**

 **145** **th** **Mechanized battalion, 222** **nd** **company**

A missile flew over Shin's head, smashing into the front of a house behind him. Trees and street lamps flew around him in all directions. He dove to the ground, covering his face with his gauntlets, letting the helmet protect the rest of his head. He looked up to see the batarians advancing on his position, shooting their now identified M-15 Vindicators at the Republic army.

Shin snarled at them. The batarians had many other weapons of different designs, like a harpoon gun, deadly for long-range sniping. The M-15 however appeared to be their main choice of weapon, firing three round bursts in frequent barking attacks. Shin stayed down as bricks and rocks were chipped off the road to either side. Sirens from police cars blared loudly in the chaotic streets.

The batarians had moved fast, faster than NCRA intelligence could have ever expected by both land and air. They had bombarded several remote settlements; probably either thinking humanity was weak or not knowing the populated areas. From space, in broad daylight, they might as well have been trying to shoot a needle in a haystack.

The _Barracuda_ rumbled past Shin, firing the rapid-fire side guns at the enemy-held houses, creating cover for those on the streets. The tank was larger than a _Panther_ _,_ but still smaller than an _Ogre_. Unlike the other factions' tanks however, the _Barracuda_ style had been designed to operate in teams. They lacked the mobility, range, or durability of their counterparts, opting instead for numbers and versatility. While not the most impressive tank, it was enough to get the job done, blowing apart structures that housed any batarians with impunity.

It was confirmed through satellite imaging that the batarians had massacred every single civilian in a block that had refused to surrender, leaving their bodies and ashes to lie on the very street the 222nd walked upon. The crimson covered road seemed to blend with the NCRA's armor, only discolored by batarian blood. Only a few were spared, taken as slaves and awaiting a cruel fate. The sight was so gruesome; the NCRA had named the massacre 'Shanxi's Nanking.'

Even though Shin himself was Japanese, he wanted revenge on the four-eyed bastards for the atrocities they had committed. With reinforced commitment, Shin pushed himself to his feet, picking up his M-7 Lancer. The under slung assault rifle had a 40mm Mongol grenade launcher, plus multiple tricks ready to devastate any foe.

Despite the killing machine in his hands, he was glad he'd grabbed some extra firepower before leaving the barracks that morning. His hip holster carried the comforting weight of an M-3 Predator pistol while an M-23 Katana reassured the small portion of his back, closed into a snug near-cylinder. The red Dragon class battle dress uniform he wore had titanium plating, layered with ceramic overlays for optimal coverage. The helmet was slightly big and clunky, but it was thick and offered strong protection. Struck by inspiration, Shin activated the helmet's Intimidate mode, letting the visor slits glow a menacing red hue. Normally such a decision was solely for infiltration missions, but the color suited his mood. Red for vengeance. Red for death.

Specialist Yamoto Shin was 29 years old, of a prominent family on Shanxi. To say he was fighting for his homeland would have been an understatement. He didn't know where his family was currently, but he prayed they were safe. Nearly a decade ago, he'd enlisted in the intelligence section of the military, and had often chafed against the bureaucratic confines of his job. Eighteen months after studying the pros and cons of colonial duties, and with the hesitant approval of his family, Shin had been assigned to a unit on his home soil. He considered it luck at the time, now it seemed to be a curse.

Shin advanced, firing on all foes before him. The ammunition he wielded was not as varied as the batarians, unfortunately. Whatever rounds the batarians were using, they were able to incinerate, freeze, or shock any of its targets. The Republic Army's rifles could only incinerate or bypass enemy armor, not nearly as versatile. However true to their time-honored strength, whatever the NCRA lacked in technological advantages, it compensated with superior numbers. Shin and the rest of his company had more heat sinks and larger ammo blocks on their weapons than their batarian counterparts, a trade in which Shin was happy to take. ' _If it's a choice between fancy flashes and an avalanche, I'll take the avalanche any day.'_

A bullet flew through a tree which Shin was taking cover behind. He swore, leaning out, he fired a concussive shot at a magenta colored house. The shot tore through the flimsy walls, sending shards of the building material through the front porch and any enemy behind it. He smiled at the sound of pained screams.

"Squad, put suppressing fire on that house!" Lieutenant Bo ordered, gesturing at another structure. It seemed every house in the area was held by batarians now. Shin leveled his rifle, joining the rest of the NCRA group in at the fortified enemies.

Shin let off his Lancer, nodding to a squad mate he couldn't name. The squad mate opened fire with a Typhoon light machine gun, sending an unending hail downrange. Shin used the covering fire and ran up to a brick wall near a front porch of a destroyed home. He took cover, only leaning out to fire on the enemy down the street. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Chang.

"You and I are taking that house over there!" Chang said, indicating with his finger to a brown colored home "You ready?"

Shin gave a nod, switching to his Katana shotgun. While the Barracuda and a few Serpents provided covering fire, the two sprinted from the brick wall, dashing to the next house. Both Shin and Chang entered through the front door, Chang kicking the door off its hinges, and were immediately met with two enemy soldiers. Chang and Shin fired, rounds shattering both enemy troopers' shields and punching through the armor. Another two slavers popped from cover, one from a wall and another through a side entrance. Both Dragons swiveled and targeted the new combatants without pausing. Shin's Katana traced a line along the wall before impacting the closest one, wasting an entire heat sink before the batarian fell down. Chang merely fired a concussive shot at the other, the blast shattering shields and knocking him back. Before he could get up, Shin pumped another two rounds into the enemy's chest plate. The sight of yellow blood oozing from the batarian's armor confirming the kill.

Both Dragons charged to the back entrance, avoiding the bodies lying on the floor. _"Lieutenant Bo, we have enemy armor coming over the bridge!"_ a Dragon said over the radio.

 _"Heavy Response formation: heavy infantry in front, everyone else in the back! Three enemy hover-tanks spotted. Serpents take care of them, Dragons cover the Serpents, watch for flanking."_ Bo ordered through the company's network link. The sound of his own rifle firing was easily heard over the static.

"Damn it!" Chang muttered. He exchanged a glance with Shin, and both Dragons raced onto the street, the Barracuda passing by a few seconds later with a Serpents squad in tow. Shin quickly re-equipped his Lancer, suitable for the sudden change in the combat environment.

The air was thick with the smell of heavy weapons fire, mixed with the lighter tang of human sweat and fear. The clattering of spent metal casings could barely be heard over the blasts of the hover-tanks, like a musical accompaniment to the thunderous chorus. "Chen, fog 'em!" Bo ordered.

"Roger!" Sergeant Major Yumi Chen, the squad's female Serpent, barked back. From the squad's shared quarters, Shin knew that underneath her armor, she had more scars than anyone else in the company. As if in acknowledgement of that badge, she packed an N7 Typhoon machinegun, M-3 Predator, and the feared FGM-90 missile launcher. In keeping with the Serpent tradition, her armor was thicker and a bit scarier than the regular Dragon's variant.

Shin watched as she led four Serpents through the streets. He stutter-fired on a squad of batarians attempting to flank the Serpents, managing only to kill one while the others took cover. "Chang, we have tangos moving on our left!" he shouted.

"Copy, suppressing!" A second later, the air was split by the iconic boom of a Black Widow. True to its name, some wife somewhere became a widow, as a batarian rocket trooper was decapitated and another had a gaping hole where a human lung would reside. The third batarian popped up, firing a concussion shot and immediately suppressing Shin. Chang was thrown back, his kinetic barriers just managing to absorb the force of the blast. The remaining batarian attempted to retreat under cover of the chaos he'd just caused, only to have Shin shoot him in the back. A blast from the Barracuda's cannon turned Shin's attention to the street ahead; where he saw two hover-tanks being wiped out while the third managed to kill two Dragons before the Serpents exacted revenge.

"Move up, we have civilians to save. Hurry!" Bo ordered.

"So we're choosing speed over quality?" Chen asked. Shin couldn't help but agree with her. These batarians were even more highly trained the previous ones they've fought. He would feel more comfortable if they just killed every batarian in sight, avoiding the risk of any survivors ambushing them from behind.

"If we don't get to the next block in time, then it won't matter the quality of our work," Chang said, covering the lieutenant as they ran forward.

"I said fast, not reckless," Bo said as the Dragons and Serpents jogged down the street. "We still have to evacuate whatever civilians remain."

"How far is Ziax again?" Chang asked.

"Less than a klick west of here," Bo said. "Now move!" he dropped the conversation, leading the way. The Barracuda rolled behind them, covering their rear. "Shin, ETA?"

Shin looked at the radar on his forearm. As the squad's telecommunications officer he had maps, radars, and current satellite imaging … at least where human forces still maintained control. He even carried a small UAV drone that sported a silenced machine gun, a toy he'd enjoyed playing with in training. "Unless we run into some real trouble, I'm guessing that we'll be there in about ten minutes tops."

Bo nodded, motioning for them to follow him down the street. At first, the squad only encountered minor resistance, all of it easily eliminated. The Barracuda continued down the street, rumbling closer and closer to its destination. Suddenly, a rocket flew from the window of an apartment building on the left side of the road, smashing into the kinetic barriers of the Barracuda. One rocket wasn't a problem, but when follow-up volleys were fired at the same time the tank's kinetic barriers began to dwindle.

"We can't sustain this missile fire!" The driver yelled in a panicked tone. "We have to fall back!"

"Roger that, Shangri-La!" Bo replied. "Fall back, we'll take care of it. Don't take any unnecessary risks! Chang, Shin, on me! Everyone else, set up a staging area and cover the Barracuda!" The entire contingent moved immediately, Bo leading his team off towards the apartment buildings, the rest surging forward, seizing the area. The tide of missile fire changed to follow them, rubble and debris from the concrete parking lot exploding against their shields as the trio advanced. Bo slapped a charge on the door as Chang and Shin stacked up a short distance away. The charge detonated and the trio stormed the entrance, immediately being met by withering fire from batarians guarding the doorways and columns. Lancer and Vindicator fire were traded between both sides, ripping apart electronics, vending machines, and seats in what was once the apartment's main lobby. Shin took cover behind a receptionist desk, paused for a heartbeat, and then heaved a frag grenade down the hall. A beat passed, then a second while enemy fire smacked into his cover, and then the grenade detonated, blowing the walls, ceiling, and any surrounding objects including enemy soldiers.

They ran up the hall to the main elevator, but found it destroyed, apparently by multiple explosions. The only other way up to the top floor appeared to be the main stairway, a death trap if the batarians had prepared at all. "Well at least we're not in an environmental hazard," Chang said, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Our work _is_ an environmental hazard," Shin grunted in response.

"Cut the chatter you two," Bo ordered, opening the door. Shin and Chang looked up the long flight of stairs before they started climbing. Fortunately, there were no traps. Unfortunately, there were many, many stairs. The apartment complex was well over twenty stories tall, and the roof from which the rocket teams had been based was still a long ways up.

"I can't wait to come down all these stairs," Chang complained as he ascended the last double-back.

"If you wanted to sit behind a desk, you should have joined the Alliance," Bo replied.

"If I wanted to climb stairs, I would have joined a gym!" Chang retorted. He fell silent as the three NCRA troopers began stacking up at the top door. Bo once again placed a charge on the door.

"3…2…1, NOW!" The door was blasted in, sending a myriad of shards into the nearest batarians. The rest were caught unaware, stunned by the blast due to the unfortunate proximity to the door. None survived the NCRA Dragons assault, their Lancers cutting down the enemy infantry.

Looking at the gruesome handiwork, Bo called the Barracuda. "Shangri-La, the missile teams are eliminated, you're clear to advance,"

 _"Copy that. Shangri-La advancing,"_ a moment later, the massive tank rolled down the street below. With their work completed, the three NCRA soldiers returned back down the way they came, much to Chang's protest.

Once the three NCRA soldiers managed to regroup with the rest of the company, they continued towards Ziax's entrance. As they neared the security checkpoint, they could hear the throbbing rev of a machine gun starting up. The batarians must have set up a staging area, the checkpoint opening fire on the advancing NCRA company as soon as the bulk of their force became exposed.

"GET DOWN!" Bo ordered, barely dodging a few bullets as they clattered against the vehicle he was hiding behind. More rounds flew towards the Barracuda with massive force, but its kinetic barriers held as its main cannon rotated. Its deliberate speed managed to convey the same attitude as a supremely deadly predator, ignoring gnats at its flanks. It spat fire once, a line of smoke disappearing within the office the machine gun was placed in. The office windows shattered, belching smoke and flames erupting in all directions, assuring them that there were no survivors.

Shin was the most apprehensive of the Dragons, he'd never mentioned it, but his family lived in Ziax. He didn't know if they'd been evacuated, or if anyone there had been for that matter, but if his family was still inside he knew he had to save them. His jaw clenched in resolve as he joined the column, all continuing into Ziax. In front of them was a bridge that led into the neighborhood that was, much to Shin's relief, still fully intact. Aside from several cars abandoned on the road and driveways of multiple homes, everything seemed normal.

The NCRA began setting up defensive positions while Bo reconfigured his wrist-tool. When he spoke, it amplified his voice. "TO ALL CITIZENS OF ZIAX, THE NCRA IS HERE!"

Shin immediately set off, looking for his own home. Walking a few blocks forward he turned right and ascended a set of stairs of a bright blue house. The home was perfectly intact, letting Shin's hope rise. His heart began beating faster as he knocked lightly on the door. "Mom, dad? It's me Shin!" he yelled, surprised he could get the words out.

There was no response.

Shin knocked once again, this time harder. "If anyone is in there … open the door!" Within a few seconds, he heard the click of the lock being disengaged. Instinctively he readied his Lancer, aiming it at the door as it began to open slowly. Once the door was open to reveal the person behind it, he nearly fainted of relief. Standing before him was his father, short brown hair with deep brown eyes and a slightly bent nose.

"Son?" His father, Tio Shin, asked surprised.

"Dad, are you okay?" he said, embracing his father in a hug. "Is mom okay? Asami, Akio?"

"They're fine," his father replied. The older man peered past Shin's head, eyes glinting at what he saw. Shin glanced back himself; his hear rose at the sight. Civilians were slowly coming out from cover, the other members of his company handing out supplies, urging the civilians to get into their vehicles. ' _We won't be able to save them all, but we'll give them a fighting chance.'_

Suddenly, a series of rounds ricochet off of Shin's brick sidewall. "GET BACK!" Shin ordered his father, pushing the older man back into the house.

"What about you?" Shin's father struggled to raise a pistol.

"I am a soldier. Get inside and protect our family!" Shin shoved hard, almost throwing his father off balance.

"Anata wa watashitachi no namae ni meiyo o motarashita," Shin's father said. Roughly translated, it meant: 'you have brought honor to our name.' It was the greatest words any son of Japan could ever hear. Shin paused, and then gathered his father in one last hug, careful to not crush the man with his armor plates. The two men shared a moment of understanding, then Shin departed from his family. His father locked the door behind him, cognizant of the newly opened hostilities. Shin regrouped with his squad, taking cover just before massive amounts of rounds impacted his cover.

A large force of enemy combatants, all wearing slightly different uniforms than the batarians Shin had fought just minutes before, poured into the area from the north. These batarians had masks all over their faces, yellow orbs emanating from them. He exactly knew who they were.

"Shit, another group of four-eyed spec-ops!" Chang complained, taking immediate cover and trying to fire on the enemy.

"Hold here!" Bo ordered. He knew the immense casualties a squad sized four-eyed spec-ops unit could inflict. Now the 222nd was facing a full company.

No word of protest arose from the ranks. Vengeance shone madder red in more than one eye, the entire company intent on taking revenge on the alien bastards. The memory of how the 220th company had been wiped out was strong. Batarians had shown no mercy to the men and women of the 220th; the 222nd would gladly return the favor.

Within seconds the area became a bloodbath. Men and women of the 222nd called out to each other, every voice calling for heat sinks or assistance. The screams of the dying filled Shin's ears, making it hard for him to concentrate. Bodies, both human and batarian, began to litter the area. A virtual no-man's-land was created between the fire of both forces. Two batarian APCs tried to advance, but they were stopped by the Barracuda's over-watch. The tank simply rolled over abandoned civilian vehicles, crushing them beneath its massive weight.

"Chen, Shin get some altitude and cover the tank!" Bo yelled, pointing over to a public transportation bus. Both NCRA troopers complied, climbing onto the second story of the bus. The Barracuda was taking the majority of the fire, but its main cannon was firing, obliterating enemy positions as its kinetic barriers resisted small arms fire.

Chen and Shin, once in position, began firing on exposed batarians. Shin watched as three Dragons were lifted into the air, screaming as a blue haze swirled around them, before being killed by an enemy sniper. His tracking software followed the trail of the bullets directly towards the sniper's position, hiding on top of a tree near the north entrance of the suburbs.

"Shangri-La, this is Specialist Shin, I have eyes on an enemy sniper, in a tree near the north entrance," he said, hoping the tank could fire on the sniper. He used his specialized software to paint the sniper's location on the map sharing system.

 _"Affirmative, firing now."_ A round exited the tank, followed by its target being blown apart. The lack of enemy sniper fire was the only indication that Shin's actions were correct.

"Nice job, Shin. Now focus on killing the grunts," Chen said, a sense of humor evident in her voice. Typhoon and Lancer fire were proving to be a deadly combination; several dead batarians lying on the street as a result.

Over the radio, the two could hear Bo's voice. _"General Chu, what is the ETA on those Makos?"_

 _"Lieutenant Bo, they are five minutes out,"_ Chu replied.

" _Roger. Recommending evacuation. We're outmatched general,"_ Bo replied, strangely calm.

For a few seconds there was dead silence on the radio _."Confirmed, lieutenant. Do what you have to,"_ Chu replied, before ending the conversation.

The exchange was barely heard over the raging firefight before the Barracuda, without orders, began rolling forward and firing everything it had. Multiple batarian squads pinned down by Dragon and Serpent fire died under the tank's advance, several by its massive weight crushing their cover. Small-arms fire ricocheted off its kinetic shields, harmlessly skipping away. It rumbled onwards, blasting a path like a juggernaut.

"Shangri-La, what are you doing!?" Bo demanded, watching the tank single-handily destroy the batarians' positions. He didn't hesitate to take advantage of the move, using his Lancer to take down the batarians finding themselves bereft of shelter.

 _"Buying your men time and killing enemies of the NCRA!"_ the driver replied, the tank continuing on its path of destruction.

"Roger, that. Chang, take a platoon and evacuate as many civilians as you can from the houses. The rest move forward." Bo ordered.

Six platoons of Dragons advanced, under covering fire from a squad of Serpents, running past Shin and fortifying their positions as best they could. The bulk of the company was placed near or around Shin, soldiers from both sides trying to use the neighborhood to cover flanking maneuvers. The majority of the firefight was spilled into homes. Not many still held civilians, but there were far too many to keep track of who controlled which houses.

Through his sights, Shin saw the batarians moving some strange weapon mounted on wheels. It had a crew of three men as they struggled to keep it moving. "Lieutenant, I'm seeing the batarians moving some sort of large weapon." Enemy fire and explosions continuing to buzz right past him as he tried his best to delay the enemy advance.

 _"Any idea what it does?"_

"Negative, wait … its powering up!" Shin yelled, seeing the drill like gun beginning to glow.

The batarian crew worked frantically, setting up the three-man weapon towards the Barracuda and fired a bright blue bolt. The pulse slammed into the tank with a massive explosion, collapsing the kinetic barriers. The tank's main gun spun, firing at the enemy crew and fired, destroying the gun along with the crew. Before the tank's crew could celebrate, another bright blue bolt appeared out of nowhere straight at the tank. The immense force caused the tank to erupt in flames, killing the crew instantly.

"The Barracuda is down! I repeat the Barracuda is down!" Shin yelled. His software scanned in the direction from which the bolt appeared, revealing three more drill-like guns being moved to the frontlines.

At his side, Chen activated her shoulder mounted rockets, helmet's targeting system locking on the nearest gun emplacement. Ignoring the rounds whizzing past her, Chen stood up firing her Typhoon.

"Are you crazy!?" Shin shouted over the noise of gunfire.

"Probably," she bellowed back. The rockets locked on target, and Chen fired. Shin watched two rockets exit from her shoulder launchers, creating a smoke trail before they impacted the batarian crew. The resulting explosion glowed a bright yellow, probably the result from the power supply for the esoteric weapon. "That's how Serpents do it!" she hollered in self-appreciation before going prone again.

"Damn right!" Shin celebrated. A loud boom caught his attention and he saw a faint smoke trail coming from the enemy's position before smashing near a squad of Serpents.

"Enemy mortars!" Chen growled.

 _"Chang, how is the evacuation coming along?"_ Bo radioed, his voice growing slightly worried.

 _"With 2,000 people? Not as fast as any would like!"_ Chang replied incredulously.

Shin turned around to see a hectic scene. The outlying suburb of Ziax was a myriad of chaos and disorder as a massive ocean of civilians marched sluggishly out of the combat zone, most only carrying the clothes on their back. NCRA troops tried to maintain order, but it was nearly impossible as a fierce battle was occurring literally in their former backyards. He saw a few unlucky civilians be claimed by the battle, their bodies lying on the street. With the enormous mass of people, Shin couldn't find his family. He did see hundreds of civilians being packed into doubled decked buses, before being driven off to allied controlled territory. That meant twelve Dragons were instantly depleted from the defending force, tapped for pilot duty, driving the civilians to safety. Several civilians managed to speed up the process by cramming as many people as they could into their own vehicles, following the buses. The vast, majority however had to walk.

"Shin, focus!" Chen shouted, bringing his attention back to the firefight. "Worry about the civvies later!" Her Typhoon began its song of death, roaring a challenge to the batarians.

"R-right," he managed to croak out. He brought up his rifle, letting the calm earned by months of training flow. The Lancer cracked its triple-shot statement, living up to its name.

Shin knew that the only thing separating the batarians from the civilians was the wall of approximately four hundred members of the 222nd. However, the superior training of the batarian spec-ops was slowly pushing the defenders back. The enemy seemed to be using biotics, selecting human targets and shredding them where they stood. Shin bared his teeth, selecting his own target, unleashing a concussive shot and following it up with a Mozambique Drill from his sidearm; two taps to the chest and one to the head. Unfortunately for the batarians, the NCRA had an abundance of counter-fire. Several NCRA biotics attempted to create a barrier around the civvies, giving them a better chance of escaping; the enemy had no such restraint, apparently deciding to taunt the NCRA by killing several civilians.

Shin could hear a yell above the shower of gunfire and explosions. "Someone get a rocket up here!" he heard someone say. One of the cars on the street detonated, bodies flying through the air. The sound of weapons firing was barely dimmed, even as several wounded began to cry out for a medic.

"Now damn it!" Shin then realized the voice belonged to Lieutenant Bo, who had unexpectedly taken position near Shin, firing into the batarian ranks on full auto. Even as Bo broke to type orders at one of the NCRA engineers, he was verbally warning several other Dragons of the enemy advance. "Watch the left! The left!" He turned to face one of the Serpents, who was activating his own shoulder rockets. "Try to fire on the enemy drill-gun-" The Serpent suddenly fell, a sniper round in the front of his skull.

"Sonuva-" Bo grabbed the Serpent's Typhoon. "Keep them occupied!" he ordered, raising the dead soldier's weapon. The Typhoon's ammunition tore apart any batarians unlucky enough to be caught out in the open as they attempted to shift cover. The enemy mortars were causing havoc within the NCRA ranks, without armor support they were practically defenseless as they continued to evacuate the area.

Four defenders were struck down by enemy snipers, leaving a smoking hole in each of the targeted soldiers' helmets. "Damn where is that counter-sniper!" Right next to Shin, Chen was evincing her rage and annoyance. She reloaded her Typhoon before the hydraulic sound of the weapon firing vibrated through Shin's helmet. He was nearly out of heat sinks on his weapon, but luckily for him every Dragon and Serpent carried several more on their armor.

"You know, I'm thinking right now would be a good time for the Makos to show up." He tracked a running batarian, watching in satisfaction as the rounds cut the alien's legs out from under him. "Or, you know, _any_ reinforcements!" Shin shifted targets, the red tracer rounds warning him the heat sink was nearly spent.

"Planet's gone to hell and we're the ones that have to make sure the civvies are tucked in," Chen replied.

"Yeah well — fuck!" A sniper round planted itself right between Shin's index and middle finger, sending chunks of flesh flying. He held onto his hand, the massive pain slightly relieved from the medi-gel. He heard Chen laughing next to him. "What's so funny?"

She held out a hand in response. "Bullet proof gloves, you gotta love them."

"Yeah? Next time I'd appreciate it if you could tell me where to find them."

"Hold your ground! They get past us, the civvies are as good as dead!" Bo yelled. Shin had to admit, the lieutenant's impressive stature, not to mention sheer courage in standing at the front lines was doing more to encourage the defenders than possibly even a full air-assault would.

Shin resumed his task. Bullets found their marks, call signs were called out, and orders were relayed. The enemy advance seemed to slow down considerably. Unfortunately, even with their renewed strength the defenders were weakening as their number dwindled. The batarians were fighting extremely well, considering they were outnumbered nearly two to one. The batarians fired great blobs of energy from their weapons, detonating on impact and scorching the area. Blue spheres of energy tossed men around like toys, while other cerulean burst were creating a gravity field, picking up debris, bodies, and men before detonating violently.

 _'Damn it,'_ Shin thought. _'We can't hold here for much longer. We're starting to seriously lose manpower.'_ The last heat sink ejected from his weapon as Shin fired another burst of fire. He began to insert the extra sinks on his armor, internally hoping the ammo block inside his Lancer hadn't depleted as well.

"Hold them off!" Bo shouted as he threw a grenade, the explosion detonating just shy of a batarian squad. The rest of the company scrambled as he threw every asset he had to hold off the batarians.

"Fuck, dammit!" Shin cursed, a round impacting his helmet's visor being the cause. He pulled the Lancer's trigger faster than his heartbeat, ejecting heat sink after heat sink. The rifle gripped tightly in his hands as bullets ripped through the bus.

"Enemy half a klick on our right!" Cheng shouted, firing her Typhoon. "Shin, get the UAV up!"

The air was blazing with gunfire as the batarian forces continued to pound the area. There was an explosion somewhere behind Cheng and Shing as a home collapsed on itself.

"Cover me!" Shin yelled. Taking out the UAV, Shin immediately began powering it via his omni-tool. Within seconds the small winged robotic droid sprang to life, its power signals and weapons at full capacity.

"Focus on the enemy mortars!" Cheng told him.

Looking at the holographic display on his omni-tool, Shin guided the drone high above the battlefield to its target. Within seconds it was over two separate batarian mortar squads. Tapping a few commands on his omni-tool, Shin directed the drone to fire. A near-silent thumping vibrated in the air as the UAV fired its silenced machine gun, utterly decimating the enemy mortar crews. Shin lowered the drone slightly, its reduced distance between its targets allowing the drone to kill a few batarians. Before Cheng or Shing could celebrate, a rocket flew through the air straight at the drone. Helpless against the power of a batarian rocket, the drone detonated in the air.

"You have to be fucking kidding me!" Shin yelled.

"Calm down, Shin. At least we lighten the enemy's mortars." Cheng said. A loud explosion detonated near in front of them, almost as if fate was taunting them.

"Apparently not enough!" he snorted, continuing to fire his rifle at the enemy.

The enemy was close, too close. Shin was a bit anxious, staring down hundreds of enemy soldiers that weren't even human tended to give you that feeling. With the final heat sink ejecting from his rifle, Shin switched to his Predator pistol though at the range they were currently fighting it wouldn't do him any good. He had a sudden urge to curse at the sky for the scene around him. Who knows how many families have been killed, how many lives lost, how many fates sealed and for what? For some alien's greed?

Before he could let his emotions take a hold of him, Shin heard the sizzling sound of a pair of Mantis gunships roaring overhead. At first he believed his ears to be playing tricks on him, until two Mantises appeared directly over the NCRA company.

 _"This is Senior Airmen Xi Fang to all NCRA forces in the area, don't worry we've got your back,"_ The feminine voice of the pilot echoed through Shin's radio.

For the first time since the battle began, Shin felt relief flow through his veins. He watched as within a heartbeat both gunships opened fire on the enemy forces. Four sets of forward-facing missile bays flared to life and hundreds of tungsten, armor piercing rounds lanced out form the gunships' M350 mass accelerated machines guns, splitting the air and leaving intense smoke trails in the sky. The batarians were only halted before they expertly spread their forces out, making them harder targets for the gunships.

 _"Target the mortars!"_ Fang ordered her partner, switching to a new set of targets. " _Hit them hard!"_ Two seconds later, the gunships' missiles activated and the pilots shifted their aim with the help of their onboard computers, providing the pilots with targeting solutions even as they shifted their aim.

The air cracked and steam traced a line between the gunships' guns and their targets as the discarding missiles eviscerated enemy mortars like the wrath of an angry god.

 _"Fire another volley, then withdraw!"_ Fang roared, the surviving batarians shifting their aim towards the gunships. The batarians unleashed a wild, uncontrolled volley of missiles at the gunships, the pilots trying to evade as many as they could while the gunships' weapons cooled down. Once recharged the pilots calmly aimed and fired another volley at the batarians even as explosive ordnance detonated wildly around them. Any batarian infantry caught in the way had various limbs from their bodies exploded into a bloody vapor, a series of yellow clouds tainting the once high maintained lawns. Others were simply incinerated by the blast.

 _"Withdraw!"_ Fang ordered to her partner, the engines on the gunships activating fully. The two gunships flew backwards and away from the incoming rain of fire of many batarian engineers.

As both gunships turned away from the battlefield, Shin saw a drill-gun crew, the same one that had destroyed the Barracuda, shifting their aim towards the retreating gunships.

"WATCH OUT!" Shin cried out in vain.

A line of bolts rose from the ground towards the sky, shattering against both gunships' kinetic barriers just as quickly. Both gunships fuel tanks exploded as the electric bolts screamed against their armor.

 _"DAMN, WE'RE GOING DOWN. I REPEAT WE-"_ Fang's transmission was cutoff once her gunship collided headlong into the pavement before erupting in flames. The other crashed into a house near the NCRA company, the gunship's metal casing horribly twisted. Burning remains were all that remain of both pilots.

"FUCK!" Shin cried out in anger.

"Shin, calm down. We still have work to do!" Chen tried reasoning with him.

Deep down, Shin wondered if any of them would get out alive. He was nearly out of ammo, their cover had been beaten with tons of rounds, and to make matters worse a great many of his teammates lay dead everywhere.

 _"Damn right, the cavalry is here!"_ Shin heard the voice of Chang celebrate. He turned his head to a magnificent sight.

Dozens of Kodiak shuttles, flying low, made the ground shake in their passage. Makos, bouncing over obstacles like beach balls were not far behind. A few Barracuda's were also with the convoy, taking positions along the 222nd company.

With a grief-struck smile on his face Shin checked the focus of the armored assault, and picked a vector. He injected several heat sinks from his Katana into his Predator, renewing its lease on life.

The civilians were packed into the vehicles in a disorderly manner, trying to speed up the evacuation. The Kodiaks were the first to be loaded up, a few unfortunately being shot down. Regardless, the software told Shin that at least six hundred lives were evacuated on Kodiaks alone. Even as the civilians were being shot at, they continued piling into the Makos. In a single hour, nearly 80% percent of the civilians were evacuated.

"How you like us now, four eyes!? Chen, for once, seemed to be smiling underneath her helmet.

As if in response to her taunt, two bolts of blue light appeared from the cloud of dust, slamming into a Barracuda. It rolled back before it exploded, flipping into the air and smashing on top of an unfortunate Dragon.

"Back back!" Bo ordered his troops. The two remaining Barracudas complied, rolling back while keeping up their furious barrage.

"Their aiming it this way!" Chen yelled.

Shin immediately tried moving, but found that one of his straps was hooked over a piece of rebar protruding from his cover. "I'm stuck!" he yelled. Chen unsheathed a knife, cutting Shin's strap. Before he could get to his feet, he felt something grab onto his armor, sending him skidding behind the bus. An instant later a bolt collided with the bus itself, destroying it in an impressive fireball.

Shin ears rang from the explosion, throwing him off balance for a moment. He quit trying to get onto his feet and instead crawled into cover. He looked around for Chen, noticing she was nowhere to be found. It was then that he realized Chen had saved him at the cost of her own life.

A signal came through the radio. _"Lieutenant Bo, fall back from that sector. An enemy armored battalion is heading your way!"_ Chu warned.

"I copy, but sir we haven't evacuated everyone from the area!" Bo argued.

 _"Lieutenant, anyone that isn't with you right at this moment is getting left behind. Now I am ordering you to retreat, am I clear?"_ Chu responded vehemently, causing many in the company to believe the situation had gone FUBAR.

"Crystal sir." Bo gritted, clearly not pleased with leaving any civilians behind. "Everyone fall back! Fall back!" Bo ordered. "Red Serpent, People's Tank, cover our retreat."

 _"Roger that,"_ one of the tank's driver responded. Both Barracuda's took up forward positions, their massive armaments tearing into batarian infantry. The forty remaining Makos made an armored wall, their main guns and missiles giving the NCRA troopers cover to retreat.

On your feet, soldier!" Lieutenant Bo screamed, hoisting Shin up by his forearms and back onto his feet. Immediately Shin's legs began pumping as fast as his breath, his heart hammering his chest like a machine gun. His pistol was gripped tightly in his hand as bullets ripped through the air.

"Come on move! Just run and don't look back!" Bo shouted, both Dragons running faster than they ever thought possible.

Shin did just that, choosing to focus on the Makos ahead of him. The air was blazing with gunfire as batarian forces continued to pound the NCRA's retreat. There was an explosion behind him that caught his attention. Spinning around, Shin saw Lieutenant Bo trying to push himself back onto his feet even as his entire right side was riddled with shrapnel wounds. Rushing back to his downed superior, Shin bent down and wrapped his arms around the lieutenant. Hauling his superior onto his shoulders, Shin began running towards the Makos as fast as he could.

"What the hell are you doing, Shin!? You're going to get us both killed. Leave me and save your ass!"

"No can do, sir!"

Another close explosion deafened Shin and nearly threw him off his feet, but he managed to maintain his balance. His ears began ringing once again, this time even worse. It was so bad; Shin momentarily believed he had gone deaf. He sprinted forward, ignoring the pain beginning to creep into his legs as he rushed towards the Makos. His breath was becoming ragged gasps, Shin's lungs fighting for every bit of air they could get. Less than fifty meters from the NCRA transports, Shin's hearing began coming back and the first thing he heard was a drill-gun powering up. Another bolt detonated just a few feet behind him. Pain erupted in his legs as shrapnel cut through his armor, nearly causing him to fall. Cursing, Shin pushed through the agony as he dashed forward refusing to give up.

"Hurry the hell up, Shin!"

Looking ahead, Shin saw Chang, alongside a few others, laying down a barrage of covering fire as they shouted and waved for him to hurry. Steeling himself, Shin sprinted forward with everything he had left, ignoring the batarians still firing behind him. Missiles flew through the air and exploded around the retreating Dragon, but Shin refused to die at the hands of the enemy.

Letting out on final yell, Shin pumped everything he had in his legs, only focusing on reaching the Makos. Within seconds, Shin reached the transports as two Serpents took the lieutenant from his shoulders.

"Alright that's everyone! Let's go let's go!" Chang yelled as he helped Shin get into the transport.

The rear hatch of the Mako closed as it was filled to capacity with NCRA soldiers, the explosions and rounds slamming against its armor seeming distant and unimportant. The occupants felt the Mako revving its engines before it began moving, its tires bouncing against several war-made holes and craters on the road.

Shin shagged against his seat panting furiously, sweat covering his skin and fogging up his helmet's HUD as the war thundered outside the transport. A hand touched his shoulders and he looked up to see Chang sitting next to him.

"You're one crazy son of a bitch," Chang explained, before he began looking around for some one. "Where's Chen?" he asked.

Shin cringed at the question before looking down and shaking his head. Chang was stunned into silence at the news before he began smashing his fist against Mako's interior repeatedly in a fit of rage. hin could feel his squad-mate's anger with each punch, feeling slightly responsible for Chen's death.

"Chang, enough!" Bo barked despite his wounds, calming the angered Dragon.

"I can't believe we won that," a timid Dragon said.

Chang snorted. "With respect private, we didn't win. We merely survived."

Shin couldn't help, but agree. Even though they've managed to evacuate most of the civilians, hopefully his family among them, they'd lost a lot of friends and had given up more territory to the enemy. All that was left was for them to return to base.

* * *

 **Lowa rainforest**

 **Shanxi**

 **NCRA command center**

Outside, a dead calm hung over the base. Humidity, well over the comfort level of any sentient being, pressed down on the occupants like a damp woolen blanket. Explosions, once distant, now were clearly audible, even through the triple-reinforced walls of the Command Headquarters.

In the center of the compound, lay the general's office. The walls were bare white, the floors cleaned into a pristine sheen. _Austere_ , would be a good word for it, as clean and antiseptic as the mind they housed.

Within those walls, General Chu stood watching the symbols appear over his computer screen, sending orders to different commanders. He made indecipherable grunts as he tapped away on his console. NCRA forces were falling back in what could be considered an orderly fashion, outnumbered now by more than five to one. The enemy had clearly switched their priorities, attacking civilians almost exclusively and avoiding combat whenever possible.

Allied and enemy fighters were dueling for supremacy over the area. A combination of Stingers and Slamhounds pursuit craft, loaned from allies that no longer needed them, waged battles in groups and individually. Alien fighters arrowed down from the skies, raking fire across his infantry placements, only to be driven away solely by concentrated fire and sheer force of will. Humanity's own squadrons lambasted the batarian ranks in turn, sowing death on command.

NCRA Dragons and Serpents engaged in their own battles below, fighting for every square mile. Artillery platforms held long-range pounding matches, taking every opportunity to shell the forces opposing them. Infantry divisions, maneuvering to avoid the heaviest of the shelling, sought position after position. Their support, in the form of monstrous beasts of metal and fire, took turns ravaging their foes.

"We are going to lose many people." Chu noted. His tone was even, as if he were speaking of a new recipe some might not appreciate.

"Indeed." Yao agreed quietly. He had stood by the general's side for most of his career, serving as something more than an assistant. Trusted errand runner, perhaps, or maybe bodyguard; yes. Yao was taller than most, towering over even the notoriously enormous SGB elite.

With expert skill, Chu realigned his men to meet the ever-changing threat. His infantry were placed in thick woodland areas, the massive trees giving them cover from enemy tanks and aircraft. His tanks and IFVs rapidly made hit and run tactics, hitting the nearest enemy convoy or forward base to sow confusion. They moved from one area to the next, never staying in place too long. Each level, each style, required its own strategy, a series of tactics designed to gain the greatest advantage. And it all constantly shifted over time, randomly changing in ways no single mind could fathom. At least, none without experience

Such was the complexity; that even Chu's legendary acumen was being pushed to the breaking point. He, whom had trained under the greatest strategists in human space, had competed against them during war, learned from them during peace. The signs were obvious, to one whom had trained three generations in the way of war. There was only one conclusion

"They will amass tonight and attack under the cover of darkness," Chu stated.

His massive assistant knew better than to question the ancient warrior. He nodded in response. "What would you have me do, General?"

The general sighed. "Many things, but the only most urgently needed now."

Yao stood to attention, trying to straighten his already ramrod-straight back. "I am at your call."

Chu exhaled once. "Order the transports to leave. Those whom have children are a priority." A cold stare met the assistant's gaze. "The next generation must have parents who understand war, or they will grow as a failed generation."

"Anything else, sir?"

Chu casted a down-work look, a heavy air surrounding him. "Yes. Yao. Prepare yourself for combat. I have tasks for you, and only you."."

"Your will, my hands." Yao responded, showing his immense dedication.

It was the work of minutes to don his armor, the oversized version built specifically for his personal use. The plates were dark matte black, with crimson trimming. While he'd never officially been a member of the Dragon Corps, General Chu had ensured Yao received the same training, pushing him beyond the lofty standards by that group. It was a personal vote of confidence, when Yao had received permission to wear the infamous Dragon armor; to wear it without permission was at risk of a death sentence. He had used it well, in service to the old general, on missions no one knew of, or spoke about afterwards

Chu stared at him like a proud father would his son. "Yao, I have no children. You are aware I never married, yes?"

Yao left the fearsome mask of his helmet open. "Yes, sir."

Clinking metal sounds made the young warrior look down. The sword, long hanging at the general's side, now lay on the general's palms. "Sir?"

"Take this. My family's sword has never fallen in battle, never been broken in defeat." Chu lifted the blade slightly. "My nephews do not have the capacity for what I am asking of you, and I will not ask my nieces to bear this burden. You, have been my protégé, and I wish you to take up my sword after I am gone."

The sword lay between the two, an ancient weapon of war, now serving as a bridge between generations. Slowly, hesitantly, Yao reached out, letting one gauntleted finger brush the decorated scabbard. Even more slowly, his other hand reached out, gently raising the blade from the old master's hands. Withered hands dropped once their burden had been lifted.

The two locked eyes. "The stroke I shall give here shall be known as given to defeat the batarian threat. They have no _honor._ I will never be known for this role, that shall go to General Williams for his strength." Neither looked away. "He will win this war, and give our race a chance to recover before the next has a chance to envelope us."

Yao bowed. "You will never be forgotten. I will see to it."

Chu sighed. "Let history decide whom has been forgotten. If I rest unknown amongst my ancestors, I will be as happy as if I were given statues in Hong Kong. Now, my final request: give General Williams a message for me."

Eagerly, Yao looked up.

Chu smiled. "Win."

Lieutenant Yao bowed once, spinning on one heel to leave.

* * *

 **Lowa rainforest**

 **Shanxi**

 **NCRA command center**

General Chu tapped the blade at his side. It was not the family blade, no. This was a blade he had ordered for himself many years ago, when he had been a forward-thinking young man, eager to make a name for himself.

Around him, the army he had forged, trained in battle surged like the sea. The humidity had broken in storm, as he had foreseen, sending swift lightning through the air.

He smiled. The batarians had accepted the bait, taking it in jaws of steel. The estimates for enemy numbers had grown, nearly exponentially in the last hour. Given the weather, even their technologically superior aircraft had been forced to retreat.

 _'Good._ Chu thought. _They will not suspect why our own fighters have retreated.'_

He cast his eyes skywards, letting the rain wash over the highly polished lenses of his helmet. Unlike the Dragons, his own armor was sky blue, with cyan lenses glowing brightly. Everyone knew who he was, and his very presence gave strength to the defenders.

Outside the base walls, only a mile away, his men fought in trenches, resisting the oncoming horde with a courage that he knew would bear fruit. The batarians were throwing themselves at his defenses, using sheer numbers to defeat his low-tech supports.

Chu stalked to one side, neatly sidestepping a hurrying company. Every stride he took was gauged for its effect. Confidence filled his soul, and by that confidence, he inspired his men. Many had guessed they were to die that day; lying to them would be counterproductive.

Ancient wisdom, hard earned filtered through his mind.

 _'Pretend inferiority, and encourage arrogance in your enemy. Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory; tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat. The quality of decision is like the well-timed swoop of a falcon which enables it to strike and destroy its victim.'_

He would add one more to the litany, recorded on the disk he had given young Yao before watching the shuttle depart.

 _'Let your enemy see what he wants. Make him desire it above all else. But when you give it to him, give it in such a way that it will destroy his desire forever.'_

Explosions rocked the perimeter walls. The Serpents returned fire with rocket launchers, causing even more detonations.

Behind Chu a massive artillery emplacement, one that had never ceased firing since the enemy had entered its range, glowed a brilliant orange before shaking itself apart. Chu regarded it disinterestedly. It had served its purpose. Now, by its death, it encouraged the enemy to approach even closer.

Mines laying outside the walls began their roars. A quick glance informed Chu that the batarians had begun sending foot soldiers across the plain of death in lines, detonating the mines on purpose. He nodded appreciatively. ' _Brutal, but effective.'_

Wall mounted machine guns started up, telling him in ways better than sensors of the enemy's proximity. The dual-barreled _koi-chan_ mechanisms had an effective range up to, but not exceeding, 250 meters. A paucity of ammunition meant the range was brought down to a hundred meters, for maximum effectiveness.

The walls began shaking, quivering in response to repeated hits. Cracks began running down their sides, widening under the barrage.

Chu sauntered through the rain, seeking out one position near the center of the base. It was a special place, one he'd instructed being built personally, and then modified in the dead of night.

Crashing sounds made the earth shake beneath his feet, not hurrying his steps even a heartbeat faster. He stepped inside, and then sat down. The gazebo was ornately built, but extremely solid in construction. Soldiers raced outside the decorative structure's walls, launching a furious offensive to cover the breach. He could hear the rumble of armored vehicles, blasting at a rate he wouldn't have believed possible in his youth. A final image, sent from a scout at the furthest edge of his broadcast range, confirmed his gamble.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers were surrounding his walls, tens of thousands at the least, probably more. More hover tanks than he knew existed circled the outer edges, adding their prodigious firepower to the rising symphony. Chu knew it was building to the final crescendo.

He waited for it. The walls fell around him, men and women died or were captured within his sight, but he did nothing. Their deaths would serve a greater purpose, one that would see Shanxi freed that much sooner.

At last, the fighting began to die down. Several batarians had attempted shooting him, but the soldiers around him threw themselves in the way, dying themselves before allowing him to come to harm. Chu noted their sacrifice, mildly anticipating the chaos resulting from his helmet's long-range video link. His present actions would be judged as callous, and so they were. They required a mind inured to loss, one that could perform calculations without guilt. He was such a man, and in time, perhaps his adopted son would be, but not after years of happiness with a loved one.

Two bodyguards were left now, protecting his flanks. Scattered fights across the central square were slowly dying down. Chu's own active lack of firing, plus orders he assumed were from batarian command, had left him relatively unscathed, especially with the sacrifices of his men to the more foolhardy of his foes. The loyalty and faith his men showed on the battlefield reminded him of the much celebrated 8th Homeguard Division of the NCRA. Their deaths would not be in vain.

A storage container, beneath the round table set in the gazebo floor, yielded a comforting pot of tea. Cold storage was good, especially for preserving such delicacies. Even in the midst of battle, Chu could take pleasure in tradition.

A batarian in more ornate armor approached. His bodyguards were heads above all others, each with more formidable-appearing armor than the common soldier. They bore weapons larger than the Lancer rifles of which he'd read in the reports, slimmer, more deadly in appearance.

The batarian came to a stop in front of the gazebo. His gaze swept across the structure contemptuously. "Are you this 'General Chu' I have been told to seek?" he asked boldly.

Chu raised a teacup to his lips, savoring the flavor. It was slightly incongruous, drinking tea in full battle armor, but it was a welcome sensation.

The batarian growled at him. "Do not keep me waiting, old man."

The teacup clicked against the saucer. "Among my people, the elderly are respected. It is sad, that a culture like your own is lacking in such niceties."

"Primitive traditions be dam—" the batarian's words died in his throat, almost literally. None of the batarians had seen Chu move, yet his sword was in hand, held against the batarian's throat.

"My bargain was not with _you_ , messenger." Chu slid the blade forwards, cutting a thin line along the batarian's neck. "Send one of your bodyguards for the actual recipient of my wealth, or you will die."

The alien's eyes bulged. Apparently, he was not threatened by his victims often.

 _'Pathetic.'_ Chu mused. ' _If he were challenged more often, he might have had the wits to survive this encounter.'_

One of the bodyguards moved back, raising his right hand to his helmet. Minutes later, another squad approached, this time centering around the gazebo with drawn weapons.

A larger batarian walked closer, without breaking the armed circle. "I am Major Kal'rin. I believe we have much to discuss."

Chu stood; keeping his blade level across the lower-ranking batarian's neck. "Indeed we do. Before we begin, may I ask a favor?"

The major laughed. "For surrendering to me and making my name go down in history, you may ask me for anything you wish!"

"Excellent." Chu drew the sword back, and then made a lightning swift thrust. Choking sounds joined the noise of a body collapsing. "Thank you. Now, you wish to have everything I own, do you not?"

More respectfully now, Kal'rin watched the quivering body convulse the last of its life away on the gazebo floor. He looked up. "If you would be so kind." His tone was mockingly polite, but a glimmer of true respect was hiding in his eyes.

Chu lowered his blade. "Very well. My greatest treasure is here," he gestured at the gazebo. "It cost me a thousand lives to purchase, and I would gladly pay ten times that number for this opportunity."

A red light ignited in each of the gazebo's four corners. They slowly began blinking.

"If I may ask, major, or should I say, _Warlord_ Kal'rin," Chu felt an amused twinge as the batarian's chest puffed out. "How many soldiers did you need to defeat me?"

"You are not a gentle foe," Kal'rin returned, almost genially. "I needed to bring nearly thirty thousand soldiers with me, and nearly a tenth of the heavy armor dedicated to pacification of this continent."

His eyebrows lifted disbelievingly. "Surely not? This continent isn't worth a quarter of that number, why spend so many on a base barely a fraction of that size?"

The batarian exposed his teeth in a grin, "The orders I received were not fully legal. With your heard or corpse, they will be." His head tilted to one side. "I could have use for a man as ruthless as yourself. You spent your armies like water, trading lives for distance. There are foes beyond the stars that you would find _most_ challenging."

Chu felt the timer in his omni-tool buzz warningly. "A generous offer, but one I fear is destined to follow my own demise. Tell me, have you heard of providence?"

The batarian smirked. "Yes. Mostly from the mouths of those I defeat."

Nodding, Chu glanced at the blinking lights, now more rapid in their iterations. "Good. My people have a history of that, from many different quarters of our homeland. One of the most well-known examples is what we call the _divine wind._ " The lights flared green. "What our old tongue calls, the _kamakazi._ " He gave a smile at the alien, just as the ground began to tremble. "I win."

* * *

 **Kodiak shuttle**

 **Passenger section**

 **Shanxi**

Yao stood on the edge of the shuttle's boarding ramp. It was still hundreds of feet in the air, but he had to see for himself. Below, the ocean heaved, reacting to the strong winds preceding the storm that even now swept the continent, but his eyes remained fixed on the one spot his mentor had stayed.

Behind and to his right, Officer Ki-Yun kept vigil as well. He knew it from the slight pressure her shoulder exerted on his, but he knew it also from the long talk they'd shared during the flight.

The dark sky remained motionless, save for the tiny specks drifting across its vast emptiness. Lightning flickered just over the horizon, illuminating the landscape briefly each time.

Then it happened.

A sullen yellow glow lit the clouds from within. Yao could follow the progress of the blast by watching the tree line sway, circling outwards like a droplet in a clear pool.

Slowly, he raised the hilt of his family blade, touching the pommel to his temple. One last tribute, from a son to his father.

"Pilot, set course for New Denver." Yao ordered.

"Yes, sir."

With one last look, Yao promised vengeance for his mentor and father.

* * *

 **Jian military base, NCRA F.O.B**

 **Bagni**

 **Shanxi**

Doctors, medics, nurses, and anyone else who had possessed any form of medical training beyond basic first aid was running around the patients. Shin saw them hurrying to treat patients and wounded soldiers. A good number of the injured were civilians, hit during the evacuation of other cities and settlements. Others were volunteers who had joined militia defense as their friends and families evacuated. Very few were trained soldiers from any human faction. The majority of wounded soldiers refused to be taken to a treatment center, instead choosing to fight rather than allow more civilians to be enslaved. Some of the injuries Shin had seen made him cringe. Several unfortunate civilians had been torn apart by metal pellets from enemy weapons, deforming and flattening as they impacted. Others were being treated for frozen limbs, third degree burns and electrocution type injuries, from the strange ammunition used by the slavers.

As grievous as the number and type of wounded were present, many knew it could have been much worse. Entire cities and settlements on other continents had been razed to the ground by the aliens, those whom had survived were taken as slaves. After being treated for his non-life threatening wound, Shin exited the large medical tent, making his way past the secondary tents surrounding it.

He looked over to the motor pool. The sounds of plasma torches, arc welders and pneumatic tools caught his attention. Battered vehicles, discharged weapons, and spare parts were scattered across the yard. Shin could see Serpents running around, repairing vehicles and taking inventory of what weapons remained. Three Barracudas were being repaired, using others that were severely damaged for extra parts.

The base itself was surrounded by barricades, using sandbags, roadblocks, and even few spiked metal rods and electrified barbed wire fences. It wasn't the most technically advanced defense system, but the base's power generators were limited to maintain food and medical supplies. What defenses or batteries they did have was mostly anti-air. Even now, the garrison was on high alert, knowing the enemy could attack anytime. News had spread quickly of General Chu's death and as a result moral was extremely low.

The sounds of tires rolling through pavement caused Shin to turn his head to the front gate, seeing a convoy of Makos exiting through the gates with a sizeable force. The drivers, what he could see of them, looked confident. The soldiers on foot and those riding atop the transports practically exuded bonhomie.

 _'If only they knew what awaited them outside the city walls,'_ Shin thought.

* * *

 _ **RCS Iron Clad**_

 _ **Battle cruiser**_

 _ **Private Quarters**_

The warm, well-lit room was reminiscent of quarters afforded to commanders, but larger; it was spacious enough to accommodate an entire squad of sailors without getting uncomfortably constricted. For security reason, the room didn't come with any windows open to the expansive void. Perhaps it was for the best, as one could easily become distracted by the wonders of space. The vibrant colors that highlighted the walls exterior had been pushed through personal funds, but Talal had viewed it as a worthy expense. It was ... comfortable, with both the temperature and scenery designed to match his species' biology quite comfortably.

As semi-reptilian bipeds, all raloi werecold-blooded, however they had a remarkable aspect to their physiology that allowed them to maintain a body temperature significantly warmer than that of other reptiles. That was achieved by conserving the heat generated through metabolism via an intertwined meshwork of veins and arteries. The heat was then transferred through a counter-current exchange system, allowing them to maintain a warmer core temperature. Despite this impressive feat, most raloi tended to prefer the tropics, their natural habitat.  
Talal sighed, forcing himself to move from the comforting spaces to the less-welcoming hall to the bridge. Despite the convenience, there was a cost to such luxury. Among the many privileges afforded by rank, there was the single right to command an audience with an immediate superior. Time was the discrepancy of course; a lowly foot soldier could not demand an immediate meeting with his superior. However, a sufficiently high-ranking commander could require a consultation with his or her officer, and successfully demand it be administered to instantly if the circumstances were correct.

The admiral couldn't help but feel anxious, hoping his government was willing to hear him out before issuing judgment. Perhaps 'privilege' was the wrong word for it. 'Responsibility' or 'duty' might have served better. Should the reason for interruption be needless, position termination would be just the beginning of the unwise supplicant's troubles.

Admiral Talal, aboard the _RCS_ _Iron_ _Clad_ , watched the recorded message. It had been received a few moments ago, its contents carrying a direct response from the highest echelons of power from the Confederacy.

There were the official seals running through the field, requiring him to provide proof of his office, over and over. The redundant safety features could be understandable if time was not of the essence. Yet again he entered a thirty-digit security clearance code, presented an ocular reading, and held back a sigh as the machine pondered the veracity of the sample.

 _'By the Five, if this machine requires another entry, I am going to turn it over to the cyber-warfare division and hang the cost!_ ' Talal flexed one hand, talons whisper-quiet against the fabric of his gloves.

But then, joy of joys, the screen flickered. An elder rose on its surface, gray eyes signifying his great age. The flagging crest was yet another proof of to whom he was listening: the First Electore Dy'man Phaux. As the political leader of the Chamber of Tribunes, which is responsible for overseeing the Confederacy's finances, foreign affairs, and war, any message from Phaux must be urgent.

" _Admiral Talal, your message was unexpected, yet not a surprise."_ The old voice croaked. The inflection made a slightly guilty twinge run up Talal's back, but more in the fashion of disturbing a favored relative from their rest, not of doing wrong.

" _Your information on the Humans, this 'Alliance,' settled a debate amongst the Five quite succinctly. My thanks for that. The actions you have taken for the Raloi people are to be commended, something which will be debated further I am sure."_

Talal blinked. Was First Electore Phaux _joking_ with him? His casual tone was contradictory to his serious attitude and it was hard to figure out his true intentions. Talal briefly gave thanks that this was a recorded message and not a live feed; otherwise the situation could have been very unsettling.

" _The watchword for now is to observe this Alliance. It is encouraging to see a separate race with such a similar government system, such like life: great powers resting their daggers at each other's back while trusting a neutral party to guide them. Like the early days of our growth, they are yet watchful for betrayal, and will pay for it in blood, I expect."_ The statesman waved a talon negligibly, _"The orders I have for you are simple. Aid the Alliance in any way possible. Delete all records of the Homeworld from your systems if you have not done so. The rest of the Raloi Sixth Fleet has been deployed to human's colony to provide assistance. I am sure possessing only one battlegroup has no doubt made you extremely uncomfortable – "_

Well, it hadn't crossed his mind actually. With the number of multiple first contacts and ensuing battle, the number of ships he had available hadn't been a major concern for him. The humans had proven themselves worthy of his trust and had welcomed him with open arms. But it was nice to be so well thought of, unless the Confederacy was actually more worried about their first impression in the eyes of the humans and less with his well being.

" _So the arrival of another fleet will help put your mind at ease"_

It most certainly would. He could always use more ships.

" _I will personally be getting in touch with the Alliance so expect to act as our liaison. Best of luck. Hunt well, fly strong. This is First Electore Dy'Man Phaux, signing out."_ The recording then ceased, the image of his elder flickering out.

Talal turned towards his room's exit, quickly striding to the elevator nearby. The glass door slid soundlessly aside, allowing the raloi admiral to step inside. He rose through the myriads of decks, tapping the floor as he waited impatiently. The elevator ride took longer than he would have liked and almost leapt out the moment the doors opened. He quickly made his way towards the bridge, the words of his superior capturing his full attention during the whole journey. It didn't take long for him to reach his destination, knowing the inside of the _Iron Clad_ well enough to travel blind folded. Looking up, he found the eyes of his bridge crew all locked on him, bright in curious anticipation.

He smiled. "We have confirmation. Full approval of future actions against the batarians has been given with the rest of the Sixth Fleet coming to our aid."

No one said anything, but rising crests showed their enthusiasm.

"We will be depending on our colleagues," he continued, "to guide us home. Should anything happen to us, we must prevent _any_ information of our homes from reaching the batarians. To that end, I am ordering a fleet-wide deletion of every mentioning of our homeworld and colonies. Every coordinate, every image, must be removed."

The response to that particular order was mixed at best. Not that he could blame them. It felt like cowardice, admitting they could be defeated.

Talal shook himself. No, it was prudence, and he needed to tell his crew as such.

"I know what you feel," he caught their eyes, peering into their very souls. "You think that this means failure, that a successful crew would never be asked to do such a thing."

"We are far from home, facing insurmountable odds, all for a planet that is not our own, for a race that barely known us. Death and fear, for nothing." Talal lowered his arms, willing his belief to be transmitted by voice alone. "Far from it. I have seen what you can do, what _we_ have been forced to accomplish."

He moved to a view screen, where the human space station loomed. Its massive breadth dwarfed all of the Raloi counterparts, its heavy armaments and defenses displaying immense strength and valor. Witnessing the extremes the humans were willing take to protect their people, an idea struck him. "Look at these humans. They are soft, with a hide barely strong enough to withstand a blade. Yet they build … not to wage war, but to protect their people from it. We have a similar plan: to grow, to become great, to protect our own kin."

"Yet the ones called batarians would see us cower." Talal eyed his crew, their eyes telling him they would follow him to the darkest parts of space without fear or remorse. He wondered if he could say the same for the battlegroup, if they would truly let him lead them again. Out of duty, certainly, but they had to _want_ it. "They would take what is ours and make them serve. They have allies, we now know, with unfamiliar powers. Our people will not face this sacrifice, for we will not let them. We are warriors, those who will fight and die."

Crest fully raised, Talal pointed out the view at the remains of the Sixth Fleet Battlegroup. "Our brothers in the fleet stand beside us. With their aid, this enemy shall _never_ learn of our home. The humans have promised to strike back with their full might, and we shall travel with them. When we do, we shall kill ten aliens for every brother and sister we have lost!"

He waited as whistles of approval started filling the chamber. "Will you fight!?"

The responding roar was better than he could have wished.

* * *

 **A/N:**

To all readers, I thank you for your time in reading and reviewing our story. My partners and I would like to highlight some of the most common concerns regarding the story.

1\. Pacing. The slow pace of this story has been brought to our attention and the feedback has been phenomenal. What may not be obvious about this tale is how it has been developed. The Shanxi arc, much like the First Contact arc, was written in advance during the summer, and the pacing has been locked in for months now. This has the unfortunate effect of us being unable to accelerate the pace of the story, even if we wanted too. Since the arc has already been written to advance the plot in a certain way, I personally feel that cutting out pieces would be a disservice to the both the readers, writers, and the story itself.

Now the pacing for the next arc, the political arc, is being looked at right now, and alterations will be made. You guys have voiced your opinions and we have listened. Hopefully the pacing will improve in the next chapter, or is already picking up in this chapter. With that being said, since we've publicly addressed the issue, we'd appreciate it if your time were spent noting improvements that have not already been covered.

2\. Over abundance of characters. While it is true that there are plenty of characters on both sides, it should be noted that it is a natural phenomenon occurring in any cross-over. That is a big part of why so many chapters have been dedicated to Shanxi and why the pacing of the story is so slow. Each arc is focusing on a different set characters, to breathe life into the universe of this fic. The main characters in the previous arc were, of course, Bonaventura, Dain, and Hackett.

In the Shanxi arc, the main characters are the leaders such as General Williams and those of the Big Four in addition to secondary characters the chapter focuses upon. This fic also focuses upon the enemy such as Toren and Ban and their mutual distrust of each other.

One of the largest contributors to detail has been getting each faction its own moment of highlight; in order to develop them. Other fics would merely bring the focus Shanxi to three chapters with many, _many_ POV switches. We feel that style doesn't allow you to properly build up a character and hence, is the reason for our method of writing.

3\. Questions: Reinforcements, or rather more specifically when they will arrive has been a big one. The answer to this question can be found in the earlier chapters, during one of Bonaventura's POV early in the story, however I can understand if it got lost in the amount of detail in that chapter. In the next chapter you will find the answer to this question and I urge you to pay close attention to Spencer's answer and the dates of each following chapter.

 **Trivia:**

1\. The conversation between Chang and Bo regarding the stairs was inspired by Ghost Recon Future Soldier and is another tribute to the series.

2\. Shin and Chen being placed on top of the bus during the suburban battle was inspired by Battle Los Angeles. The batarian drill-gun was also inspired by the movie.

3\. This chapter sees the intro of the batarian's best, the SIUS and we get to see their skills.

4\. The shoulder rockets on the Serpents was inspired by a concept in Ghost Recon Future Soldier that was cut from the game.

5\. Shin carrying Bo on his shoulders and running for his life towards the Makos was inspired by Forest Gump.

6\. If you haven't noticed Chu's mindset and tactics are very reminiscent of Sun Tzu himself.

7\. The Raloi POV was actually added at the last minute to sort of mitigate the focus on the battles and to give us guys more info on our canon race despite not appearing in the main games of Mass Effect.


	12. Chapter 12 - High speed, Low drag

1-1-2157, 2343 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Arcturus Station**

 **Private Office**

Dain sat somewhat uncomfortably in a conference room alongside two of humanity's top leaders. The room itself was quite large with the usual dull metallic grey finishing, with an occasional scene dotting the walls, bringing some much needed life into the room's tedious appearance. In front of his seat rested a large desk, unique in its counter-appearance to the surrounding walls; its warm, pecan colored material almost breathed an aura of tranquility.

To one side, a well-worn cream chair sat at the table with two others like it flush against the wall. Along its length was a long book shelf that was filled with both books and the occasional model ships, ranging from small corvettes to the ever-popular super carrier miniatures.

It was clear to Dain that he was sitting in a highly important location, possibly even Prime Minister Bonaventura's private office, something he'd never thought of doing before. The small vessels, lined on the shelves drew his attention once again; he couldn't stop staring at the ships, reminding himself of the massive naval battle he'd barely managed to survive. The faces of his crew, the strained fury on their faces as they pushed into the darkness against all odds, just to live another few minutes, flashed before his eyes again. He hated being away from them, but knew his job was important. Now that it was complete, the only thing he could focus on was returning to the fight.

Dain shook his head, returning his gaze to the soft-toned wood before him. After having been giving a medical evaluation he'd been cleared for debriefing. It was how he'd found himself enjoying a nice cup of high quality coffee, a small token of luxury, before two of humanity's top leaders. The prime minister himself sat across from Dain while Admiral Spencer stood off to the side, watching from the sidelines.

Bonaventura looked a combination of exhausted, shaken, and disheveled, his aged tiring eyes reading the report with precise attention. Dain couldn't help but feel weary just by looking at the man, not that anyone could ever blame him. As humanity's prime minister, he alone carried the immense burden of ensuring mankind's future. Throughout the man's long career, it was obvious he'd learned how to take bad news and make some very hard choices. Since the invasion on one of humanity's colonies, it would seem as if a good amount of pressure had been lifted with the arrival of the _SSV Damascus_ , something Dain was mildly pleased to have done. It had been a rare case of good fortune that not only had another ship escaped from the Theta-Shanxi system, but had also brought a great deal of intelligence on the enemy. Learning about one's adversary was often the first step in defeating them.

"So is this everything you've managed to learn on our new foe?" The prime minister asked the commander.

"Yes sir," Dain replied briskly. "From the data that we've managed to piece together, it is clear that they rely heavily on eezo to power their weapons, ships, armor, - everything really. A lot of good soldiers have died making sure I've gotten this far and there are still many more left back there."

Bonaventura shut his eyes, lips moving in a common but silent prayer for those lost … and for the safety of those now at risk. "What is the update on the fleet's readiness?"

This time it was Spencer's turn to deliver an answer. "Preparations are still underway. We've managed to gather the necessary auxiliary vessels and are now waiting only for the rest of the combat ships under Admiral Dresher to arrive. Our QRF hovers slightly above one hundred combat vessels. Whatever remains of the raloi battle-group have already pledged their full support."

"That is excellent," Bonaventura responded. From his expression, he was taking great comfort that at least humanity's first contact had borne fruit. "I am unsure if you are aware, but I've managed to get into contact with the Raloi Confederacy. It appears their situation is very similar to ours. They've mobilized their fleets to secure their colonies and have scrambled whatever assistance they could muster. Unfortunately, it seems they won't arrive in time, which puts the burden solely on the forces we are assembling now."

Spencer knew the prime minister wanted a deadline and realized he couldn't delay any further. "My guess is we'll be fully ready in less than eight days, assuming Shanxi can hold for that much longer."

The fact sank in for several moments as silence washed over the three individuals in the room. Dain couldn't imagine the responsibility held by the soldiers at Shanxi, defending an entire planet while the rest of the Alliance continued to waste time preparing for an offensive.

"All those years spent practicing for this scenario and it still leaves us unprepared for when it _finally_ happens," Dain growled under his breath. It was a sign of how tired he was already: it was the _height_ of poor manners to basically accuse the Head of State so bluntly.

He knew the two older men in the room shared his feelings, but couldn't allow themselves to let emotions get the better of them. The unfortunate truth was that while the now identified batarians continued to attack Shanxi, every moment the defenders held out gave the Alliance more time to prepare. Not just for a rescue mission, but for an all-out galactic scale war. Despite the new data, intelligence on the batarians was still sparse, with their full military capabilities still largely unknown. Every fleet, not just the relief group gathering at Arcturus, was getting ready for a possible attack on _any_ colony within Alliance territory. It had been, and still was, a logistical nightmare adequately mobilizing such a large force across countless systems. Nevertheless they had made good progress; the question still remained: was if it was enough?

The prime minister skimmed through the latest summary on the batarians. The minimal briefing Dain had received stated that trusted analysts, cross-referencing the information of the alien's linguistics, had managed to produce a reliable translation key. With the aid of the station's AIs, the translation software had been improved greatly, speeding up the process. There were still a few minor problems, but those were mundane compared to what they were dealing with now.

"I am afraid everything we have here isn't enough to retake Shanxi, much less hold it if this truly becomes a galactic war. I cannot sacrifice valiant lives needlessly, by taking back the colony only to lose it once more, so we must wait until we have the appropriate forces." Bonaventura's voice had dropped into the bone-weary grumble. The poor man had circles under his eyes rivaling Dain's own.

"Thankfully we have another battle group that will be here within the next twenty-four hours, along with fifty thousand troops from the Big Four. It seems they realized the threat is real, and are itching for some payback." Spencer stated; it was good news, but only under the circumstances. Any comment involving 'Big Four' and 'payback' a month prior would have been cause for panicked deliberation. "As per my recommendation, all vessels heading towards Shanxi will purge their navigational data banks of the locations of our colonies and anything that may be of use to our enemy. If we fail, we'll make sure they won't be able to attack other colonies. From there, anyway." It was a grim reminder, but a necessary one, of how high the stakes were.

Leaning back on the chair, Dain couldn't help but be filled with worry. The past days had been extremely stressful and he could only guess how bad the upcoming ones would be; the slow, never ending buildup to what would most likely be one of the most important events in human history. Nothing like this had ever happened and it was only by luck that the human race was united; if it had been divided the outcome would have mostly likely have been much worse.

"So does this mean we continue to let Shanxi hold out on its own?" Dain asked, but the pain it caused bled through like a deep wound.

Bonaventura sighed, looking even wearier than before. "For the time being yes. Time is all we can give, and every second of it is precious. I pray we do not run out of it in the end." He could understand the young man's eagerness to purge Alliance space of the enemy and get some much deserved payback in the process, but he could not allow the rest of humanity's colonies to become vulnerable.

It was remarkable that after decades of colonization, the human race had truly become a super power of gargantuan proportions. Evaluating, searching, and researching every system they've encountered, humanity had spread its influence across dozens of colonies. Whether for better or worse, the endlessness of space and distance between worlds and systems had created a slightly militarized government with thousands of warships under its command. Even individual nations held formidable fleets. It had long been assumed that when the time came for humanity to unleash these tools of war it would be upon itself, now things were different. Every ship, rifle, and bullet was now changing its aim, shifting away from the center and against a common enemy; mankind had spent much time producing great quantities of all things combat related and now had the perfect reason to use them.

"Still the fact that Commander Hackett has maintained a small flotilla nearby is outstanding in and of itself. It would seem that the batarians lack self-awareness and I plan on taking advantage of that flaw," Spencer snapped. He was processing as much information on the enemy as he could, analyzing the facts presented and using it to extrapolate their behavior.

"And what of the turians? Do we know anything about them?" Bonaventura asked, referring to data on the other race held within the packet.

"I'm afraid we know even less about them," Spencer replied, "But the good news is that our analysts have already begun creating a translation for their language as well. The majority of the data being used comes from what the batarians have bothered to write down."

"I see." Was all Bonaventura said. The idea of the batarians being part of some sort of alliance with another race unnerved him greatly. Searching under his desk, the prime minister brought up a bottle of wine. He poured himself a generous amount of it, taking a rather large sip from his glass. He graciously offered some to the two naval officers, who politely decline. Leaving his glass unfinished, cognizant of perhaps more than he should have, Bonaventura turned to address them. "Then the next step is clear. All fleets are already on high alert and Parliament has increased military spending. The First and Third fleets have fortified Earth's Relay with the Second split between Eden Prime and Terra Nova."

Bonaventura could see it was good news for Dain, knowing that humanity's inner colonies were secured, but was equally frustrated to see the Alliance's skewed priorities. The frontlines were at _Shanxi,_ not Eden Prime or Terra Nova, and giving more time for the batarians to push those frontlines deeper into Alliance territory was terrifying at the very least. A token force of fifty ships had been deployed to guard Arcturus from any possible attack with another thirty underway.

Bonaventura knew that if those ships were allowed to join Spencer's command, the relief mission would greatly be sped up. However, he could see both of the naval men present clearly realized those ships were essential in guarding the rear guard in case the mission at Shanxi failed … but still couldn't help but lament over the fact that those ships weren't being mobilized.

"Considering the overall situation," Bonaventura started once again, "I believe it wise to active half of the Fifth Fleet's battleships and bring its dreadnought to the cause as well."

Those words caught the attention of both naval officers. The heavy firepower those ships could bring to bear was _astronomical_ and to hear them be activated for the upcoming mission was like a godsend. This fundamentally changed the options the QRF could pursue in any possible naval engagement. Dreadnoughts were excellent in providing long-range support while battleships could immolate any opposition on the battlefield. The fact that the Prime Minister was willing to commit all those ships which played a crucial role in Arcturus' defense was shocking.

"Are you sure?" Spencer asked, apparently finding it hard to believe his words.

"A hundred percent," Bonaventura responded firmly. "You'll need the extra firepower. Parliament will want my head for this, but I don't think that'll make a difference in the long run if we fail. Now if there is nothing else you two are dismissed."

Both naval officers gave a crisp salute before walking out of the office. After exiting the room, Dain paused, struggling between maintain decorum or asking the admiral a very serious question.

Spencer's keen eyes picked up on the young man's inner turmoil, and took pity. "If you want to ask a question, feel free."

"Sir, do you think even with the additional support that it will be enough?" Dain asked.

Spencer looked at his fellow officer, seeing the doubt in his eyes hidden behind a wall of courage. "Commander, you were there on the battlefield. You know more than any of us of what to expect. I cannot guarantee Shanxi will end in complete success, but I do know I will try my best to make it so. That is what any of us can do at this point." With the question answered, both officers continued onwards in silence.

* * *

 **Baja**

 **Shanxi**

 **JSF 37** **th** **Reserve Battalion**

The Falcon transport squadron tried staying in full formation as they flew towards their destination. The sheer number of Falcon transports was a sight to behold, or it would have been if the JSF pilots didn't have to worry about dodging enemy AA guns or fighters. Mitchell, never having seen so many of them at once, was awestruck by the scene. He could just imagine what the enemy must've been thinking when they saw the massive shuttle squadron fill the dark sky overhead. The black horizon was illuminated by anti-aircraft fire and burning buildings.

In the passenger section, Mitchell watched Ghosts and Pioneers rechecking their gear with as much ease as breathing. One of the Ghosts next to Mitchell, a young private he'd just met, by the name of Nick Salvatore turned to him. "This is where the fun begins eh?" he said with a grin, a New Jersey accent clear in his voice. Mitchell had learned that Salvatore, despite coming from an Italian family, had enlisted in the JSF rather than the Enforcers. He guessed Salvatore truly believed the UNAS to be his home and would defend it against any threats.

"I guess so," Mitchell replied, grinning as well. It was good to be with his brothers and sisters of the 37th battalion. Though consisting mostly of rookies, the 37th had proven themselves fierce warriors in the many battles plaguing the city.

"You've been marked?" Salvatore asked, meaning if Mitchell had engaged the batarians. It was thanks to General Williams that the JSF, and every human force on the colony, was able to receive intelligence on the enemy such as their biology, species name, and behavioral patterns.

"Yup," Mitchell replied. "I fought on the Sentinel bridges about a week ago." He motioned to the private's SCAR rifle. "You ready to use that weapon, rook?"

"Hell yeah!" Salvatore replied with gusto.

"Good," Mitchell said. "Just check your fire and keep your head down, hoorah!" he saluted the kid with a smile. Even though they were similar in age, Mitchell had experienced more hardship in the last few days than most men did in their lifetimes. The war seemed to have aged him by about 20 years. The dirt and grime covering his face and armor showed the scars of the battles he'd fought in.

From what he could gather, Baja was one of the few central command hubs left standing on the continent. Its entire west coast had fallen to the enemy, but thankfully the batarians weren't able to push any further thanks in part to the range of mountains and tropical forests that had long divided the continent in the center. The only way to maneuver around them was to heard north, across SGB territory. Still that was as far as good news went. The batarians had taken New Denver in the early days of the conflict, reducing the moral of some troops and putting more pressure on Baja. To make matters worse General Chu was confirmed to be KIA. While the situation in other fronts was grim, the JSF refused to surrender; they would die before admitting defeat.

Suddenly a missile flew by, hitting a nearby Falcon. A small explosion followed, but luckily it was only a glancing blow, knocking the transport a bit off course. The Flacons responded by opening fire with their own 35mm Gatling guns.

" _WHOA!"_ A pilot yelled. Mitchell, along with the rest of the men, could hear it on the radio. _"We got enemy AA guns firing from the ports_!"

"Copy that," the pilot carrying the seventh platoon replied. "Taking evasive actions! All pilots break off and regroup at the secondary LZ at the southwest end of the harbor!" The shuttles changed course, flying over the city while the enemy forces below launched another missile barrage. None of the shots managed to hit any of the mobile shuttles, but a few did come close. It was unnerving for the JSF infantry as they were completely exposed to enemy air support. Luckily the batarian's air campaign in the city had momentarily been halted.

Realizing their enemy held an advantage operating in the darkness, the batarians had decided to hold back their fighters and bombers until dawn arrived. Unfortunately, the JSF air forces were too few in number to wage a massive counter-attack, opting instead to conduct limited air strikes and bombing runs where the situation was most critical. The reason being, if the 37th managed to reactivate the city's air defenses, then the North American aircraft would be free to use their minimal numbers to maximum effect, destroying ground assets on the ground completely unrivaled and allowing forces on the ground a chance to mount a counter-offensive. It all came down to this one operation.

The Falcon shook violently, anti-air flak smashing around the shuttle. Dazed, Mitchell could hear the pilot swearing as he fought with the controls of the shuttle transport, flying further into the harbor. Missiles and bullets continued flying past the transport as AA flak exploded around it, causing jarring shudders that wracked the transport. Only the death grip on their seats prevented the infantry inside from falling loose and onto the floor. The Falcon's stealth systems allowed it to avoid enemy targeting missiles, but couldn't defend against 'dummy' rounds. Thankfully, while there were many dummy rounds being used by the batarians, they were too inaccurate to get a hit on the Falcons.

Mitchell looked down at the water and noticed that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies floating in the sea, blood darkening the water around them. Even in pitch black darkness the gore was visible through the burning wrecks surrounding the sea graveyard. He swallowed hard. The shock of battle had inured him to the sight of blood, or so he'd thought. The sheer number of bodies in the water couldn't be all military; there had to have been civilians caught in the crossfire. Mitchell pushed down an enraged sensation, saving it for the upcoming fight.

Another bone-jarring explosion shook the Falcon again. "That one was too close!" Foley yelled. "Pilot, how close are we to the harbor?"

"The hell if I'd know!" he replied angrily. "The fucking anti-air is giving me a hell of a time right now!" As if in response, the Falcon shook again, bringing forth another violent string of curses from the pilot as he maneuvered the Falcon towards the harbor, trying to avoid the enemy AA guns. As they neared their LZ, the Falcons took less and less AA fire from the ground.

"This is Sergeant Foley to the thirty-seventh battalion, we're dropping in ten so get ready!" Foley's voice resounded in everyone's ears as the soldiers hefted their weapons. "First squad ready!" Foley yelled, echoed quickly by second, third, and fourth squads.

Mitchell checked the comm. channels and nodded, everyone was online and were delving onboard combat nets through their comm links and synching up for mission data. They've been updated on the terrain, weather conditions, and possible size of the enemy force. The network was already jumping with speculation by the troops, all without words being spoken in the deafening interior of the Falcon.

Reaching its destination in once piece, the Falcon settled just over a charred road beneath them. The restraints keeping the JSF troops in their seats clicked and slid off. The quiet vibration of the Falcon's engines hummed through the interior as the side and rear doors of the transport began opening. With the Falcon still hovering at seventy feet, the infantry began dropping down ropes.

"GO, GO, GO!" Sergeant Foley yelled. Ghosts and Pioneers swung down from their transport, equipping their rifles as their feet touched the ground. Many shuttles did the same, while others chose to physically land. The staggered offloading pattern was standard procedure in case of an enemy ambush or ground assault. This ensured that not all of the battalion would be compromised.

Mitchell grabbed the rope as his turn came and rappelled down, his boots hitting the cold hard pavement. He knelt, equipping his modified SCAR, squinting downrange through his red-dot sight and awaited for further orders. During the ride in the shuttle, the battalion had been refitted with new gear and ammunition; all the better since they were tasked with beating the batarians back from the harbor and recapturing the city's uplinks. Due to their quick deployment however, the 37th had been unable to receive translation software on the enemy's language. Mitchell wasn't bothered by it in the slightest; he, like many others, wasn't interested in communicating with the aliens instead motivated to put them down permanently. Once the entire force had been dropped, the 37th battalion immediately took up defensive positions, sweeping the area as the Falcon transports hurried back to high altitudes and relative safety. The few Raptors deployed with the battalion roared to life as they came online.

Crumbling buildings surrounded them, the high-density commercial and residential housing lying dormant and abandoned. Where people had once walked the streets, socializing and exchanging goods for services, now stood decrepit husks of buildings. Essentially a ghost town. Four platoons of Ghosts spread out, sweeping through the derelict buildings, ensuring there were no hostiles or civilians in the area. True to their name they moved like unseen specters, moving through from building to building with near complete silence.

Twenty minutes past before the rest of the JSF force received an all clear message. Foley called the rest of the battalion and ordered 6th and 8th platoons to advance. Having scouts guide the main body forward was a time-honored tradition dating back millennia. The recon force cut along the side of the road, another twenty minutes passing before another all-clear transmission was received. Immediately, Foley ordered the rest of the battalion to advance, quickly, but quietly. The 37th battalion took advantage of the advance reconnaissance, running across the road, passing holes and charred remains of vehicles, gunships, and fighters; the sea just off the coast. Since Raptors were both a larger target and lacked the stealth camo fields, they were held back in reserve. The salty air smashed against the JSF troopers as they advanced through the derelict streets. Strangely enough, there were no batarians in sight.

Approximately 40 meters ahead near the middle of the street, a Spartan mobile artillery platform roared to life, shooting its massive cannon on a batarian squad. The 37th's infantry watched the artillery rounds tear into the enemy squad, annihilating them completely. Mitchell decided the four-eyes must've been either a patrol or were lost in the maze of the massive city since he couldn't see any signs of a large batarian presence in the area. As if to make his observation a lie, the Spartan artillery suddenly erupted into a massive ball of flame, the heat and force of the explosion throwing the nearest JSF infantry back. Two enemy bombers flew by over the city through the smoke, disengaging once their target was destroyed. Luckily for the individual soldiers, their adaptive camos made them practically invisible when they moved slowly or stood still even if they were semi-conscious. Most took heavy advantage of that fact, frequently pausing to blend in the background, something believed to be insane considering the amount of armor and firepower at the fingertips of these soldiers.

Mitchell looked back at the mobile artillery seeing it burning, dismembered, and the crew turned to ash. The sight was horrifying and gruesome for the fresh cadets; but they maintained discipline. Continuing his rush down the street, Mitchell maintained his scanning of the area. The city was outlined in red, fire and smoke sending sparks of flame into the air. Neither the planet's moon nor a single star was visible behind the billowing shroud. The sounds of explosions and firefights echoed through the scarred city.

Bodies of dead soldiers and civilians alike, lying along the intersection at San Beugard Road, drove home the danger the battalion was facing. Looking further ahead, Mitchell saw numerous abandoned vehicles, some of them still having bodies inside of them. Despite the grim sights before him, the mission objective kept his focus. Passing through the metal graveyard, Mitchell noticed it was very quiet. Sounds could be heard originating from miles away, but the area itself appeared to be abandoned. He couldn't hear any noise nearby other than the constant vibration of soldiers' boots clanking against the pavement, but even then that was barely audible.

To the battalion's left, Mitchell could see the charred remnants of what appeared to be a police station continuing to smoke, on their right stood an untouched, but clearly empty auto shop. When the battalion passed through the commercial district, they came upon a large square. In the middle was large, open grass from many parks with minimal cover. To the sides were parallel streets, each one presenting a viable route to the battalion's destination.

"Okay, we need to cover as much ground as possible. We'll split into five companies of three hundred men each," Foley ordered. "I'll lead First Company through the street on the left. Second and Fifth Companies will advanced through Stenson Avenue on the right. The Third will be responsible for relaying any vital intel to the other companies. Fourth will maintain our rear guard and provide covering fir as needed, copy?" A series of hesitant affirmatives were sounded from the other company leaders. Even though they agreed this was the best tactical approach, the JSF cadets were still nervous about dividing the force. Mitchell couldn't blame them; no one could tell what they might come across.

Each company served a specific role within the battalion and was organized accordingly. 1st company was the primary fighting force, having a well balanced mixture of Pioneers and Ghosts, and was well equipped for most situations. 2nd company was composed of the dedicated scouts and were lighter equipped as a result. But with 5th company, the battalion's heavily armed infantry force, having the majority of mortars, missile launchers, and Pioneers, they could give up-to-date information while having the capabilities to order a strike on a high value target. With 3rd company specializing in mechanics, logistics, and communications, they served as the command and control component of the battalion. So it made sense to place them in the middle of the formation where they were the least vulnerable. The 4th served as the mechanized transport force, having the responsibility of operating the small complement of Raptors they had at the moment.

"First Company on me!" Foley said. The three hundred soldiers of First company followed the sergeant's command. The rest of the companies each followed their own separate orders by their respected leaders.

"We need to pass through the road, so Ice-pick will advance first to make sure the path is clear while the rest provide over watch." Foley addressed First company with their first orders as a separate unit. Mitchell watched as each soldier in the company activated their adaptive camos, virtually making the whole force invisible. The slight shimmer in the air was the only indication of JSF presence in the area, but in the darkness that wasn't much help to the enemy at all.

Following Foley, Ice pick moved unseen through the war torn street. Squads moved in four-man fire teams, covering each other as they moved from cover to cover. The troopers moved liked the wind, silent and invisible.

Mitchell, walking carefully behind Foley, wondered what had happen to the civilians that lived here. The rest of the platoon fanned out behind him, weapons at the ready and scanning the area for any sign of enemy combatants. Mitchell felt a bead of sweat running down his back; his combat instinct was going off the chart as his heart rate increased.

"Sarge, do you get the feeling we're being watched?" Mitchell asked in a shushed whisper.

"I have a feeling the enemy is nearby, but I don't think they're aware of our location. Our adaptive camo should make us invisible to them." The sergeant replied in an equally hushed whisper.

Mitchell grimaced. Since the enemy was near, the situation became a simple matter of _when_ the fighting would start, not _if_. The HUD display on his helmet gave the location of the rest of the infantry in the platoon. Salvatore, Dunn, Allen, and a Pioneer by the name of Marcus Brown were only a few feet behind him, their pace equally slow. The rest were a bit further away, but still close enough for Mitchell's helmet to pick up their life signs. Moving forward, the platoon cleared the first house on the right, then the second. Everyone could feel the tension; it hung thick enough to cut with a knife. As the platoon neared the third house, they heard a commotion and decided to investigate.

"Stack up," Foley whispered, giving hand signals to his men. The platoon lined up behind the house door with a few going around the back to see if there was another way in. Foley peered inside through the window and instantly became enraged. Angry snarls from the flanking soldiers indicated their feelings equal to his own.

Inside the home were several batarians, forcing a young woman onto her stomach and restraining her with ropes. Foley saw her face pushed into the floor, screaming in fear; the cowardly action heightened his rage. There were several other women in the house that were visible, two teenage girls and a woman who appeared to be the mother. The older woman seemed to be crying, begging for something Foley couldn't quite make out. Evidentially, her request did not meet with the batarian invader's favor. He bellowed at her in his alien tongue, and then struck her face, sending the woman onto the floor next to the two teenagers. He then went back to his comrades, who were finishing tying up the restrained daughter.

"Sarge, we're not going to just stand here and watch?" Dunn hissed, his eyes telling he was moments away from barging in.

Foley kept quiet, analyzing the situation. If they engaged the batarians, their cover might be blown and the enemy would know they were coming. If they continued onward, the company could advance undisturbed, but no doubt the women would be horribly violated and most likely enslaved or killed afterward. He thought about his own family and what he would do to defend them. Just as the batarians began undoing the codpiece segments on their lower armor, he made his decision. "Mitchell, flash bang through the window. Allen, Dunn, prepare to breach and clear. Salvatore and Brown, the rest of the squad is going in hot," Foley checked their expressions as he whispered the commands, pride swelling as he saw their reactions. Each face he could see was filled with a mixture of rage and disgust at the batarians' actions. The rest of the platoon held 360 degree security around the house, ensuring the breaching team wouldn't be caught off guard from enemy reinforcements.

" _Copy. Be advised, we're at the rear door and ready to breach,"_ Brown replied. He and Salvatore had lead a small team around back and had witnessed the scene inside the home thanks to the cross-cam headset.

"Roger that. Watch your fire; civilians are present in the vicinity. All teams, breach on my signal," Foley said.

Mitchell began priming a flash bang grenade in his hands, his heart beat increasing by the second. Dunn and Allen placed a breaching charge on the door and took up positions on the sides, while Mitchell guessed Salvatore and Brown would just bust down the rear door.

"NOW!" Foley shouted. With perfect synchronization, Mitchell tossed the grenade through the window just as it detonated in mid air in front of the batarians. Dunn and Allen watched Mitchell's throw, and then detonated the charge on the door, storming inside with all the trained fury of the JSF.

Over the radio, Mitchell could hear the sound of a door being kicked off its hinges. He didn't have much time to dwell on it as he and Foley targeted the batarians, firing short suppressed bursts from their rifles. Caught off guard and blinded from the flash bang, the batarians were easy prey for the Ghosts. Still one managed to land a few hits on Foley's shields, draining them before being killed by Mitchell. The duo then jumped through the window, entering the house with a roll and coming to a kneeled position with their rifles trained on the exit and stairs. On his helmet-cam, Mitchell saw Salvatore and Brown gunning down the last of the batarians, who were playing some form of card game in the back. A batarian fell back dead on the hallway floor, one of Brown's bursts catching the back of the alien's skull. In an impressive display of skill, Dunn and Allen fired on other batarians, killing them with deadly precision.

Mitchell noticed a batarian descending down the stairs, warned by the gunfire and ready for combat. Once the batarian's eyes fell on the Ghosts he began waving his hands, causing a spherical blue field to warp into existence. Foley fired a burst from his rifle, killing the exposed batarian, but not before the enemy biotic managed to launch his attack. Mitchell leaped sideways in a shoulder charge, ramming into Foley's and throwing the sergeant aside just as the biotic attack impacted him. Mitchell flew back, hitting the back wall. His shields shimmered, indicating the blast hadn't penetrated through his armor. He sighed in relief.

"Targets neutralized." Mitchell called out loud.

"Sarge, entry cleared," Dunn yelled across the room.

" _Backyard and rear entrance secured,"_ Salvatore said.

"Excellent Work," Foley congratulated. "Mitchell, I'll untie the girl, you go and see what you can get from the family."

Walking over to the family, Mitchell saw the mother protecting her daughters with her body, her back facing him. Kneeling, he tapped the woman on the shoulder. "Ma'am it's alright, the JSF is here."

The woman spun, hesitating a moment with a relieved look on her face, and then lunged at him, arms open wide. She embraced him while she crying on his shoulder. "Oh, thank god! I thought we were goners, they were going to…," She couldn't continue speaking, thinking of the fate the JSF had spared her. Her eyes caught her daughter, untied and with a blanket covering her exposed body. Without pause, she ran over and hugged her eldest daughter, both crying in relief.

Mitchell turned to see the two teenage girls staring at him in fear. "You guys okay," he asked them. One of them nodded.

"Thank you," she whispered with a slight smile. "For saving us."

Mitchell smiled in response. "No problem."

"Ma'am how many enemy soldiers were here, do you know?" He heard Foley asked the mother.

"About ten," she responded, slightly calmer now. Not wanting to take a chance, Foley ordered two Ghosts to secure the upstairs of the home.

"Do you have other relatives living with you?" Foley asked.

The woman gave a nod. "My husband and son, but they're gone now. Tried to protect us." She said, grieving over the lost of her family. Foley didn't know what to say. All he could do was squeeze her shoulder sympathetically, and gently push her towards her daughters as he moved towards the door.

"Ice-pick on me," Foley ordered. The two JSF squads regrouped and waited for further orders. "I want a squad to remain here and evac these civies. The rest of you follow me." He looked at the family, now free from the horrors of war. "We have more lives to save."

The sergeant led the platoon back onto the street, intent on accomplishing their assigned objective. "First company regroup on me," He ordered through the radio.

" _Roger that sergeant. First company advancing,"_ a Ghost replied. Mitchell realized it would take some time for the bulk of the force to reach them and until then the platoon was on their own.

"The rest of you weapons tight. We'll do some recon," Foley said curtly.

"You think the enemy knows we're coming?" Mitchell asked, his gaze searching the buildings for any sign of enemy spotters or snipers.

"If they didn't before, they do now," Foley replied bluntly, his response failing to encourage Mitchell.

Mitchell frowned at the platoon's current situation. Stealth was the only real advantage they had over the batarians. While the JSF had better weapons, training, and equipment, the sheer numbers of batarians nullified those advantages. With enemy ships having orbital dominance, the JSF had to rely on small nimble teams to capture or destroy key locations even when the enemy outnumbered them. Any large offensive had to be put on hold until the city's uplinks were secured and the planetary cannons were brought back online. For better or worse, the fate of the city now rested in the hands of the 37th battalion.

Turning right onto Roach Avenue, the distinct sound of an alien sniper firing was suddenly heard high and off to the right where a three story building was located.

"Contact. Enemy snipers, get down!" Foley shouted as weapon fire poured onto the platoon from same building.

The platoon responded initiatively, taking cover where they could before returning fire. Mitchell dove behind a vehicle, hoping the protection could stand up against the enemy's fire. As a squad of batarians wielding missile launchers came into view on the edge of the roof, Dunn and Brown fired their heavy weapon armaments, the feared Fire Spitters. Their rockets soared across the air, detonating right in front of the enemy engineers. The rest of Ice-pick opened fire with their SCARs.

Mitchell equipped his M120 with a 20x magnification scope and armor piercing rounds. He peered through the scope, selecting his target, and fired two rounds in the center of an enemy soldier's chest. The enemy's shields shimmered before collapsing and Mitchell fired a final killing shot. As the last round ended the batarian's life, Mitchell's peripheral vision detected more batarians emerging from cover. He ducked back behind the car, just as his buddies opened fire, triple-barreled SAW's ripping into the hardy stonework protecting the batarians.

"Pioneers, fire on those buildings!" Foley bellowed over the noise of the firefight. Four Pioneers responded, firing another rocket salvo, practically tearing the building apart.

More enemy soldiers poured out of the buildings weapons blazing, trying to catch the Ghosts and Pioneers in a pincer move. Luckily for Ice-pick, the majority combat element of First company managed to arrive just as the enemy infantry began their rush. Mitchell was relieved at the sight of reinforcements. He shifted aim, providing covering fire while the approaching Pioneers split into two groups. The first group added fire to his, forcing the batarians to take cover under the high-output terror spitting from their SAWs. The second group opened up with their Fire Spitters, disorienting the batarians with the concussive force. Several Ghosts snipers began targeting the few batarians brave enough to venture returning fire.

Mitchell threw a frag grenade towards the batarians. He watched it detonate in front of an enemy combatant, sending batarian body parts flying everywhere. The steady fire on the other flank from Allen and Salvatore held the other batarians in check. Tan tracer rounds flew forth like angry hornets looking for a body to sting. Mitchell caught sight of a Ghost getting hit by an alien machine-gun burst. Despite the volume of fire, He ran over to the young soldier, dragging the injured soldier to safety and miraculously not getting hit in the process.

As Mitchell tended to the wounded Ghost, he caught a glimpse of the planetary cannons a few hundred meters straight ahead, guarded by two battalions of enemy soldiers, who were now taking defensive positions. "Sarge, enemy hostiles inbound!" He yelled, pointing with his finger at the fast approaching batarians soldiers.

"This is Sergeant Foley to all company leaders; we're within visual range of primary objective. I repeat we're in visual range of the cannons!"

" _Sergeant Foley, this is Sergeant Gonzalez of Fourth company, we're three hundred fifty meters from your position and closing in over."_

" _Staff Sergeant Blanco here, Second and Third companies are cutting around the batarian position. We'll try_ _to outflank and box them in_ _, but it may take some time before we're in position over,"_

"I copy, over. We'll try to press forward and get as close to the cannons as possible," Foley replied. It relieved the First Company that with a plan now in action, recapturing the cannons may not be such a difficult task. No doubt the additional reinforcements would be more than enough to drive the batarians back. "Okay people, platoons one through seven are going straight in. Eighth platoon, I want you to flank the enemy and keep enemy squads separated. Ninth and tenth, provide covering fire for the rest of the company. Priorities are heavy troopers, squad communication specialists, and officers. Wait for my signal." He ordered.

Waiting for the right moment to launch his counteroffensive, Foley watched as the majority of batarian soldiers reloaded their weapons signaling the perfect time to strike. "NOW!" He bellowed. The momentary pause of suppressive fire gave the company the perfect opportunity to respond. The batarians, despite having the advantage in numbers, were shocked at the incoming barrage of bullets, rockets, and grenades pummeling their position. Some batarians dove into cover while others returned fire wildly in the general direction of the JSF troopers.

The batarians were too shocked to register Casino, with their full array of weapons, circling around their positions. When they were behind several squads of batarians, Casino's Pioneers swept into the battlefield firing on the surprised enemy troopers. They took cover behind barrels, crates, civilian vehicles, and even corners of buildings as they created a tide of rounds. Mitchell could feel the momentum shift as he gripped his rifle tightly, the constant recoil of the weapon smacking against his shoulder.

With the aliens progress checked, Foley rallied his men. Mitchell and the rest of First company kept up the pressure, pushing the invaders back despite the overwhelming numbers. One backpedaling batarian was caught with a Fire Spitter rocket dead center in the chest, the majority of her body disappearing in ash. The street shook as several rockets from Pioneers were launched at the batarians.

"MOVE! MOVE!" Foley shouted to the soldiers as he fired.

Mitchell's ears were filled with the sound of rifles blaring, yells from the company's infantry, and the vibration of hundreds of boots banging against the asphalt. The batarian's fire, in comparison, was intermittent and weak at best. A few small batarian security teams quickly rushed into the street to deal with the advancing JSF troopers, but they were picked apart by the Ghosts' deadly accuracy. Taking advantage of the lack of fire, the company charged through the street. After firing his SCAR and killing a few batarians, Mitchell reloaded his rifle as he took cover behind a stone barrier. He assumed it was put there by the previous JSF taskforce deployed to defend the guns. Then he saw them…

All along the harbor laid dozens of ruined JSF vehicles surrounded by even more dead soldiers. The JSF troopers had defended the area to their last breath, committed to their mission, people, and race. The smears of their blood stained the very ground he walked on as he stared at the fallen. To add insult to injury, some of the bodies appeared to be looted while others had obviously been dragged through the streets, the heavily irritated skin of the dead soldiers providing clear evidence. The sight enraged Mitchell as he fought to keep himself controlled. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see Brown.

"Nothing you can do about them mate. If you want to honor them, then make sure they didn't die in vain." The massive man didn't appear to be fazed by the numerous bullets whizzing by him as he calmly reloaded his SAW and responded back. Mitchell thought that the man was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

Still, the Pioneer had made a good point and Mitchell hadn't come all this way to be killed by simple recklessness. Regaining his senses, he responded as a Ghost should with a clear head and accurate fire. As he focused on the battle, he realized that this was their small window of opportunity. Far ahead, Mitchell saw several batarians bringing forward heavier firepower and were beginning to respond with rocket fire of their own. If the rear of the batarian element managed to recover before the JSF could secure enough ground, then his company would be completely wiped out in the street. This motivated Mitchell into fighting even harder, killing batarians at a rapid pace.

Luckily no enemy armor had been spotted yet, making Mitchell believe that the batarians hadn't been expecting an all out attack. Still he didn't get cocky; the bridge overhead was a great place for enemy snipers or a mortar team to fire on exposed infantry. Fallen debris acted as natural blockades, narrowing each side's capability to maneuver. Overall the area was a perfect location for a truly entrenched defense. Regardless, the firefight erupted into several warehouses and fishing stores nearby, further destroying the city's infrastructure.

As the company continued to advanced, resistance began to stiffen. Batarian reinforcements began to respond in strength from the harbor. The Ghosts were destroying entire squads, but were unable to turn the tide. The batarians were fast to take cover, their gun emplacements firing on the JSF infantry. First company reacted efficiently as one, Ghosts and a few Pioneers firing a quick volley of rounds from their SCARs, the bullets soaring through the air and killing a good number of batarians. Suddenly a large explosion detonated near Mitchell's position, making him cringe at the blast. He watched as two Ghosts were shredded by a similar explosion, sending crimson mist into the air. Mitchell became slightly nauseated at the gruesome sight as debris was flung everywhere.

"Enemy mortars!" He warned, barely able to force the vomit back down his throat. Heavy shells began erupting from the bridge, the smoke trails barely visible in the black sky. They impacted around the street, causing Mitchell's ears to ring. He began to wonder if there was a chance that he might go deaf. Concerns about his hearing faded into anger, as he saw nearly half the infantry that had survived this far get killed under the barrage.

"Sergeant, I can take a small team to eliminate the mortars?" Mitchell suggested. Foley glanced at him, then up at the bridge before jerking his thumb at Salvatore and Brown. Mitchell gave a nod, fully understanding the sergeant's hand signals.

"Salavtore, Brown on me!" He ordered. Quickly, the three men broke off from the rest of the company and headed left where they crossed onto the next street. Mitchell, scanning the area, coming upon an escalator connected to the bridge. He mentally cursed; this street would have provided an excellent flanking option if not for the wreckage of vehicles and buildings blocking the way ahead.

Without verbal orders being given, the JSF squad started rapidly ascending the motionless escalator. Once they reached the top, Mitchell turned right, catching his first glimpse of the enemy mortar crews firing upon the JSF position below. Immediately, he and his squad opened fire. Caught off guard, the batarians were easy prey for Mitchell's team. Several bursts of SCAR and SAW rounds shredded every batarian within range. Lacking cover and heavy firearms, the batarians were easily eliminated; the squad continuing to approach the center of the bridge.

Looking below, he could see the next wave of batarian reinforcements arriving from the west and joining their embattled comrades. The newly arrived batarians began setting up turrets in an attempt to wrest fire superiority from the JSF. From his recently-won position, Mitchell could see Allen and Dunn destroying several turrets with a combination of rocket and sniper rifle fire, but that didn't deter the batarians from bringing up more. From his vantage point, Mitchell realized he had a great position to pin down the enemy. Of course, height advantage was useless without sufficient firepower. SCARs were efficient in close to mid-range combat, but from this distance they'd be akin to spitting. Then, his eyes caught the batarian mortar emplacements already set up on the bridge behind him, formerly raining death upon his comrades

"Alright, we're going to use the enemy's weapons against them," He explained, running towards the mortars.

"That'll make for a nasty surprise." Salvatore said, jogging close behind Mitchell.

As the two Ghosts began moving up the mortar, Brown took the opportunity to reload his SAW. Once properly set up, the mortars began unloading on the batarians below. While a single mortar was somewhat ineffective, it was soon bolstered by Brown's rapid fire SAW. The mortar and the SAW firing in unison managed to eliminate a few enemy positions, but it was not enough to suppress the advancing batarians. At the very least, however, Mitchell's fire support gave the rest of the company a bit of breathing room. It began regaining momentum as Mitchell saw them beginning to push forward.

" _Mitchell, is there any way you can cover our advance?"_ Foley's voice came over the radio.

Clearly the man wanted every lit bit of covering fire he could get, and Mitchell couldn't blame him. Looking around, he came across several smoke grenades lying in crates. An idea immediately sparked in his head. He hoped it would have the desired effect. "Sergeant Foley, have the company switch to thermal," he said.

" _Roger. First company switch to thermals,"_ Foley ordered.

"Salvatore, get every single smoke grenade inside that cache," Mitchell ordered, pointing to the crate.

"Roger," Salvatore grunted, running over and picking up several smoke grenades. He handed one to Mitchell, who in turn loaded the small sphere into the mortar before pressing the trigger. The mortar coughed its surprisingly mellow burst, and they began reloading.

"Seems the four-eyes are getting agitated," Brown called. His warning wasn't necessary, due to the increased number of enemy shifting their fire on the bridge. Most of the rounds impacted the bridge's railings; however some ricocheted off of Brown's armor and shields. Mitchell was proud to note the barrage didn't deter Brown from continuing to fire his SAW on the enemy.

With another smoke grenade loaded, Mitchell and Salvatore fired the mortar, the smoke grenade traveled in an upward arc before going straight down like a rollercoaster. Impacting the ground below, the street started to become shrouded in a blanket of smoke. White phosphorus filled the air, giving the unit cover as they quickly began moving and laying down a pattern of covering fire into the smoke.

" _Keep it up, Mitchell."_ Foley encouraged. Mitchell complied, firing off twelve more smoke grenades. Even from his elevated position, he couldn't see anything below. The entire street seemed to be clouded in a deep fog.

" _Thanks for the cover. First company, advance forward!"_ Foley ordered.

Suddenly a new voice cut in on the frequency. " _Sergeant Gonzalez here, I figure you boys may need a hand,"_ the newcomer said.

Looking behind, Mitchell saw the entirety of 4th company arriving with a few Raptors at their side. The hums of the Raptors' engines were as smoothing as they were exhilarating. He saw them advancing behind 1st company, cutting large swaths of air with their mini-guns, before losing them in the dense smoke. The sound of explosions and constant gunfire was the only indication of the raging fire fight occurring below. Mitchell noticed the JSF tan tracer rounds were emitting a golden glow through the dense fog as they soared towards their targets. He guessed the rounds were visible to the enemy, but did little to give away any exposed JSF soldier.

"Right, so now that's done how are we going to get down there?" Brown asked, peering down at the roiling smoke uneasily.

"Simple we rappel down," Mitchell answered with a smirk, clipping a carabiner onto the bridge's railing. Salvatore and Brown did the same, leaning away from it once their feet were firmly pressed against its main structure.

"Now let's get down there," Mitchell said, fast roping into the raging battle below. Both Brown and Salvatore followed close behind.

The moment his boots hit the pavement, Mitchell unclipped the carabiner and equipped his SCAR. He could hear Brown and Salvatore grunting as they reached the ground. Moving in an arrowhead formation, Mitchell taking point, the three dashed across the street to provide fire support for the two companies. Luck seemed to be with them, the defending enemy didn't notice his squad approaching from the left flank, through the still-thick smoke. Sprinting into range, the squad opened fire. The sudden assault caught the batarian's attention. Mitchell and his squad shredded nearly a half-dozen enemy soldiers before they had to take cover and reload. He heard a low pitch growl rise from an enemy officer, who seemed to be directing the attack. The leader had a squad break off and engage the JSF team.

Mitchell had been hoping for just that.

His team advanced hard and fast, the squad's blazing guns taking some pressure off of the platoons. His group split the enemy squad's like a wedge, forcing the aliens to take cover behind anything reasonably sturdy.

He smirked at the success of the maneuver; the breathing space allowed his team to regroup while simultaneously throwing the batarians off balance. The smoke was rapidly dissipating though, making both sides rely on night vision. To one side, Salvatore fired a grenade launcher repeatedly, sparks emanating from underneath the SCAR he carried. The explosions froze the opposition for only a brief moment.

Their response to that hesitation was a powerful missile barrage. The majority missed as his squad ducked, missiles detonating behind them. Mitchell turned to see the damage out of perverse curiosity; the missiles had destroyed a supermarket.

"Brown, you and I are going to hit their leader!" Mitchell grunted. Brown gave a nod, throwing another grenade and forcing some batarians back. The team was becoming increasingly unpopular with the batarians, if Mitchell was any judge, the comparatively small group defiantly holding their own against enormous odds. The two JSF soldiers then concentrated their fire on the four-eyed officer, who was bobbing and juking through cover to avoid the withering rounds. Salvatore was attempting to cover his teammates with little success; a single meager rifle was rarely able to match the firepower of five more.

"Come on boys! Let's show these four eyes what happens when you mess with the JSF!" Mitchell yelled. His squad bellowed approval, letting loose a series of bellows of support.

He had chosen his moment well. The batarians had overextended themselves, not expecting a counterattack, and were now paying for that oversight. Their failing cover exposed them to the team, vulnerable to a vicious response. Almost gleefully, the Ghosts and Pioneer began picking them off with greater and greater frequency. Missiles and common rounds flew in both directions, making Mitchell wonder how the city could sustain this level of abuse. Despite their heavy losses, the batarians maintained superior numbers keeping the fight far from over.

Mitchell, with Brown and Salvatore at his side, rallied a number of Ghosts to a flanking position, once again pushing the aliens back. The Raptors rumbled forward, adding to their firepower to the fight and sending massive amounts of lead soaring into the batarians ranks. Fighting hard, Mitchell's squad managed to regroup with Foley's around another split-push, the two beginning to coordinate their fire effectively.

A burst of enemy fire penetrated through Mitchell's shields, the impact noticeable through the protective armor. He cringed but kept moving; he hadn't realized he'd been taking heavy fire; the adrenaline pumping through his system must have numbed the sensation. Taking a moment, he checked his HUD map. Crimson dots cascaded around the small blue triangle representing his meager force, multiplying in greater numbers as the distance increased. The realization made him shudder; despite the best efforts of his squad, the sheer volume of alien reinforcements were checking the JSF's progress, forcing them to find cover or risk being torn to pieces. As if in emphasis, the very air next to him sizzled with the crisscross of live fire.

The batarians seemed to sense the shifting momentum, pushing harder for the kill and sacrificing bodies for space. At this point, it was a matter of mathematics, the enemy had more soldiers than the JSF and both sides knew it. Mitchell could hear the gruff barking of a new officer, directing individual batarians into better positions. The batarians pressed their attack, setting the JSF force back on their heels.

" _Sergeant Foley, be advised. Enemy armor closing in on your position,"_ the sound of General Parker's voice came through Mitchell's helmet.

"Copy that. Got any more good news?"Foley growled.

" _Unfortunately, yes. Enemy corvette is setting up firing solutions on your position! Get that cannon back online now, sergeant! You only have twelve minutes; I have a squadron of Stingers and Spirits attempting to distract it, but they can't hold on for long,"_ the general answered.

"Roger, we'll get it done!" Foley said before cutting the link. "Alright, you heard the man. We only have twelve minutes before this place becomes a graveyard, so let's make sure it's one for the four eyes!"

The JSF force pushed forward with a new sense of urgency, firing in near unison. Rounds flew from the JSF weapons like furious hornets, kicking up little puffs of dust from the ground. The overwhelming firepower not only stopped the batarian advance, but started to push them back. The entire battlefield seemed to be one giant tug-a-war to Mitchell. Each side had taken control of the battle only for the other side to steal it.

"We're almost there!" Foley yelled. "Only a few hundred batarians now!"

Suddenly two Raptors exploded, crushing two Pioneers under the debris.

"Enemy tanks!" Mitchell warned, seeing four of the alien hover-tanks approaching. The leading machines belched fire, resembling the ancient tales of dragons, albeit in squat form. Taking cover, Mitchell cursed. At this point, the hover-tanks were becoming increasingly infuriating. While easily picked off, their maneuverability was more than supplementing their weakness.

"Pioneers, that's your cue!" Foley shouted. Thankfully, this time, the enemy didn't have overwhelming armor, the four hover-tanks being more than outmatched by the sixty remaining Pioneers. The hover-tanks seemed to realize this and took advantage of their maneuverability once again, dancing up and down in defiance of the heavy weapons. The Pioneers couldn't get a lock on the enemy tanks, providing cover for the now-advancing batarians. The Raptors did assist in slowing the enemy's progress down, but their weapons were dangerously close to overheating.

"Pioneers scatter fire! One fires high, the other low," Foley yelled, trying to find shelter from the hover-tanks' barrage. Mitchell found the idea to be solid, and even though his shields were about to collapse, he smiled at the batarian's soon demise.

The Pioneers, following suit, fired two volleys of rockets with one soaring straight ahead at the batarian infantry and the other into the air. The hover-tanks found themselves trapped as the two incoming volleys clipped them of their advantage. Two hover-tanks were destroyed in the air, one of them landing on top of an advancing batarian platoon in a gruesome end. Another hover-tank was destroyed on the ground, while the last one fell back.

Before Mitchell could blink the entirety of the batarian line was incinerated by a colossal series of explosions. Plumes of flames burst into the night sky, reaching hungrily for the stars before evaporating in the air. Even two hundred meters away from the blasts, Mitchell was still thrown back, now firmly convinced he was clearly deaf despite the helmet protecting his head, the constant ringing in his ears not going away. Several Ghosts and Pioneers seemed to have the same occur to them as they struggled to their feet.

As the shockwaves from the explosions rumbled past Mitchell, he could hear the comparatively subdued roaring of JSF Spirits flying by. He mentally swore to never to say a bad thing about the Air Force. His attention was caught by the pained shouts of the enemy, echoing through the harbor as they burned to death. A few Ghosts attempted to line up a few shots, only to be stopped by the rest of the company, the batarians' suffering apparently serving as retribution for the lives they had taken and the sins they have committed.

" _Ice-pick actual, Scythe-lead here, can you confirm enemy casualties?"_ One of the pilots asked.

"Scythe-lead," Foley called, Mitchell hearing appreciation working its way into the sergeant's words. "Targets are burning."

" _Copy that Ice-pick actual,"_ the pilot replied, the Spirits becoming invisible in the sky. _"Returning back to base, have a good one, over."_

Before Foley could respond, another voice cut into the channel.

" _Sergeant Foley, this is Second and Third companies checking in. Hope you liked our gifts to the party, over."_ Staff Sergeant Blanco said. Mitchell involuntarily turned to see where the radio transmission had come from, saying a silent thanks. To his right, he saw a group of waving soldiers from the top of the harbor's highway.

"Blanco, you cheeky bastard, I owe you one," Foley said, Mitchell hearing relief in his superior's tone, now that their opposition completely annihilated.

" _You can thank me by getting those cannons up. I see an enemy corvette approaching and it looks mad!"_ Blanco responded.

Foley grew wide-eyed, remembering the urgency of the situation. "C'mon JSF we have to move!" A Raptor approached, slowing only to pick up Foley's squad and raced towards the cannons. The rest of the JSF force followed on foot at a slower rate.

The Raptor came to a stop, power sliding on the street in a spray of gravel. Mitchell and the rest of the squad barged out of the Raptor, sprinting at top speed towards the cannons' uplink structures. Rushing through the demolished doors, the squad entered the uplink and began bringing power back online. The batarians, thankfully, were too arrogant to destroy the uplink completely. Dunn and Brown reached the station that controlled all the hardware, a series of consoles and terminals lining the walls. With haste, the two Pioneers danced their fingers across the controls, tapping commands on the console. The uplink's main screen showed the enemy corvette fast approaching, gunships and fighters emerging from its bays. The rest the squad took cover where they could, their rifles trained on the entrance. Even with two companies guarding the uplink from the outside, Mitchell guessed Foley didn't want to take a chance being caught with their pants down.

"General Parker, Sergeant Foley here. We've reached the cannons and are awaiting activation codes, over." It took all the composure for Foley not to demand the codes from the general right then and there.

" _Roger, activation codes are as follows: Hotel Bravo Four."_ The general said, sounding strangely calm.

"Copy, codes confirmed. Inserting activation codes!" Dunn yelled, sweat pouring down his face. Mitchell noticed he wasn't the only one sweating, the others feeling the same stress. The entire squad was on adrenaline high as the corvette neared ever closer.

"Cannons coming online," Dunn reported. On screen, the massive cannons began powering up and locking onto enemy space and air forces.

"Let's see the fireworks." Brown said, stepping outside the uplink. All across the harbor, dozens planetary cannons and AA batteries came online. The enemy corvette, approaching from the west with a large contingent of fighters and bombers, was caught unaware as the planetary cannons opened fire. The AA batteries' fired hundreds of Disruptor torpedoes and Interceptor missiles skyward. Enemy bombers and fighters tried in vain to evade the carnage, but were soon destroyed with the massive quantity of ordnance, their wrecks crashing into the sea or onto land without discrimination. Without the cover provided by those aircraft, the enemy corvette was completely vulnerable, a dozen remaining torpedoes slamming into its kinetic barriers. The ship's barriers collapsed under the strain of the torpedoes, with several managing to severely damage the hull. It seemed the corvette was too slow to activate its GARDIAN defenses as it stood like a frozen giant awaiting execution.

Then, the planetary cannons came into play. The coils, set in a rectangular array, began glowing dark yellow as their charges built up. With a massive screech, four 600 kilogram shells traveling at 0.32% of light, slammed into the corvette's hull, the rounds gutting the ship in half and outright destroying it. The harbor's other defenses came online and fired on the two retreating enemy frigates, landing hits with an excessive number of rounds. They met the same fate as the corvette, becoming expensive masses of scrap metal.

Mitchell shouted victoriously, cheering as loudly as he could. The massive fireballs over Baja were the signals to all human forces that the tide was turning. The city's horizon, for once since the war began, was illuminated against the dark shroud that enveloped it.

"Happy New Years, you four eyed bastards!" Dunn hollered in joy, sticking his middle fingers in defiance. Mitchell shared the same gun-ho attitude, having achieved the impossible.

"General Parker, mission is completed. Planetary cannons are back online," Foley reported in.

" _Roger, Sergeant. Confirmed kill on enemy ships. All primary threats neutralized. Enemy forces are in full retreat. Sergeant Foley, you and your men have earned some rest, great job JSF."_ Parker replied.

"Copy that, general." Foley said before lifting his rifle in the air. Before him, hundreds of JSF troopers copied his action, cheering at the tops of their lungs. Overhead, hundreds of Stingers and Spirits soared filled the sky, taking full advantage of the regained air superiority and hammering fortified enemy positions. It was the beginning of the end for the invaders.

* * *

 **Baja**

 **Shanxi**

 **Archon command vehicle**

In his Archon command vehicle, General Parker couldn't help but smile at the success of his men. The cadets of the 37th had truly earned their talons. Activating his communication system, he delivered the message for which every JSF trooper was no doubt waiting for. "This is General Parker of the JSF to all friendly units; we are no longer on the defensive. I repeat we are no longer on the defensive! Consolidate and counter attack. The four eyes are retreating and I want us at their heels!" He then had the message play on a loop, hoping word would quickly spread.

"Sir, incoming priority message!" shouted one of the officers.

"Let's hear it."

" _General Parker, this is Captain Keating. We have captured an HVT, I repeat we have captured an enemy HVT."_

Parker was immediately intrigued. "Captain Keating, I read you. Can you be more specific?"

" _Yes. We have what appears to be an enemy combatant. An officer to be exact. Its uniform and armor is of a higher grade than that of regular batarians and we have begun interrogating it."_

"What have you managed to find out?"

" _At the moment, only its name. Turik' Han. We believe the batarian to be a 'he', if their biology plays the same rules as ours. So far he has been quiet, neither outright resisting nor cooperating fully. We'll get back to you once we've gathered more useful information."_

"Copy, captain. Do whatever you need to short of outright torturing him. That has never been a reliable tactic and won't be now. Find more on his personal history, maybe an old rival left him to die and we can use that to our advantage."

" _Affirmative, general. Over and out."_

Parker realized what a major advantage this was. Either the batarian could be used as a bargaining chip or a source of information. Regardless, the tide was changing and he would make sure to capitalize.

* * *

 _ **HSS Cursed Soul**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

 **Off the Coast of Gian, Shanxi**

"WHAT!? Toren's bellowing tone filled the command deck. The invasion had _not_ been going well. In fact it was experiencing many setbacks. First, Admiral Ban had attempted usurping command of the fleet, then there had been a confusion about his rightful ship placement, and … now this?

"Are you telling me, the humans have actually bested one of our own forces, and secured an entire city!" Toren's rage was rapidly growing past the generous limitations the crew had been given weeks ago. One of his most trusted officers, Amon, had perished in the fighting with the sneaking group of humans, and now he was being informed of the enemy's success! _This_ was a clear blow to his pride. He would not stand for it.

He hadn't bothered informing Ban of General Han's death in the initial assault, believing it a task beneath him. Even though Ban was an admiral in the Hegemony, Toren was greatly offended that the batarian in question dared to order him around like a subordinate. It was _he_ , not Ban, whom had found the primitives and as such, only _he_ should reap the greatest rewards.

The slaver, who had delivered the news, couldn't stop from shaking, all too aware of Toren's brutal reputation. The stories told nearly rivaled those of Admiral Ban's youth, terrifying as the idea was. "It would seem so. We've also lost two Na'hesit frigates and a corvette. They failed to stop the cannons from coming online."

"And which humans were responsible for that!" Toren demanded. "I'm hearing reports of different sets of uniforms; the primitives are better organized than we'd thought." He carefully avoided any reference to his own lack of efforts in reconnaissance. "Don't tell me there's another faction?"

"The ones wearing tan armor, sir." The slaver was glad for a non-threatening answer for a change.

Toren scowled. "Do you have any other good news or are you really as useless as you seem!"

"N-no … sir, but there is one more thing." the slaver stuttered.

"Then speak and be out with it." Toren exercised a considerable amount of will, reigning in his temper.

"We've managed to acquire a sizeable sum of slaves from the city, a mix of males and females. They are being outfitted with implants right now."

Toren gave a wicked smile. "Excellent, that is good news." The smile grew. "I believe I should personally inspect the merchandise, to ensure they meet our standards."

The slaver spoke. "Sir, may I ask what about our forces in the city?"

"What about them?" Toren turned a curious eye to the map.

"If they do not receive aid, or orders to evacuate, they will surely be killed. Or perhaps captured … the primitives are dangerous enough without gaining information about us."

Toren raised his chin. "Their orders were to secure the city, and they gave me their word it could be done with the forces allotted to them." The dangerous grin came back. "If they were so competent, they would not need more resources …" He glanced around the command deck. "Let that be a lesson to all of you. Do not promise what you cannot give."

"What if we request Admiral Ban for-" The slaver made a huge mistake.

Toren silenced him with a single look. The slaver whimpered at the anger burning in his eye. "The subject is closed; our purpose here is to gain slaves. Now, make yourself useful and bring in more!"

"Sir, experiencing stress when communicating with Admiral Ban is understandable, but-" A shot impacting his head silenced the slaver. He fell on his back, blood oozing from his skull.

Toren stood, glaring at the people surrounding his chair, while holding a smoking pistol. The room was deadly quiet. "Does anyone else wish to question my orders?"

No one spoke.

Satisfied, Toren regained his seat. "Get this abomination out of my sight."

Two guards approached, respectfully tilting in the proper manner. Between the two of them, his floor was clean once more.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well I hope everyone has enjoyed this chapter and brought some much needed plot advancement. To avoid confusion Toren believes Han to have died in the initial assault on the city and didn't even bother to confirm his status. Looks like that is about to come bite him in the ass. Anyways I am glad to say that we are at the last stages for this arch. Stay tuned for more.

 **Trivia:**

1\. Title is a tribute to the JSF's motto, 'High Speed Low Drag.'

2\. If you remember in his introduction, Dain was drinking a cup of coffee and complained about its taste and wished the Alliance could brew better quality? Well it seems he got his wish in the worst possible conditions. Moral of the story: Be careful what you wish for.

3\. I wish this chapter was up on New Year's in order for Dunn's statement to have a bigger impact!

4\. Sergeant Blanco's original name was Blank meant to act as a place holder before being changed to Bhlanke to finally settling on Blanco.

5\. We have Keating from Ghost Recon making a cameo appearance.

6\. If you played close attention to the dialogue and the story thus far, you will realize Turik Han was the general that narrowly avoided death in Guardians of Freedom.

7\. Reaper flight from Tom Clancy's H.A.W.X was originally supposed to take Scythe's role, however I decided to switch it for reasons that will be shown in the final battle.


	13. Chapter 13 - Return of the Dragon

1-4-2157, 0029 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **New Denver Outskirts**

 **Shanxi**

 **1** **st** **Allied platoon, Vengeance 1-4**

The forest flashed by under the shuttle, a sea of green tossing in the evening sunset. Yao crouched next to the open panel, letting the wind pull on his frame. He was a large man, a powerful one; resisting the screaming wind was a simple matter. Movement beneath caught his eye, some sort of large herbivore, scared by their passage. He watched it leap through a clearing, legs a blur. The sight of something so _normal_ was heartening. Perhaps, after this was over, people would call this place home again.

Kilometers ahead of them, the tips of New Denver's sky scrapers were barely visible in the horizon. Below them, the flashing explosions between the Enforcers strange energy weaponry vanished like the stars at dawn. General Williams and the united might of humanity's armies were gathering to deal with the batarian invaders there, leaving it up to the individual commanders to make distractions. His own mission was largely an individual effort, spearheaded by his own initiative and the desire of his squad to inflict raw damage on the batarians. Fortunately, the Raloi had requested attendance as well, sending one of their elite units with him.

Their target was a batarian outpost located outside the city's limits. After General Williams' retreat, the aliens had done their best to fortify the city in case of any counter-attack. This included emplacements of AA batteries, barricades, extensive minefields, and an enormous array of communication hubs to either warn of or delay any large counter-offensive long enough for the might of the batarian forces to respond. Simply put, it was imperative that they be taken offline.

He glanced behind, checking the readiness of his compatriots. On one half of the Falcon, the elite forces of the NCRA waited, swaying with the shuttle's movements. The other half of the shuttle held the comparative elite of the Raloi, the Shadows, if the translation was correct.

Vengeance squad, or the Amazons as the JSF had nicknamed them, consisted of hand selected members from the already elite NCRA forces. Each was capable of taking on a platoon by themselves; together, they were the match of any small army. Especially so, considering they had been hand-picked by General Chu, may he rest in peace.

The Shadows, on the other hand, he had never witnessed in person. He knew nothing of their training only that they moved like alpha predators amongst sheep. Their armor was darker than that of his Amazons, greens and browns mostly. Their greatest advantage, one that his squad had nearly been drooling over, was a form of cloaking technology, similar to the JSF's chameleon skin. Granted, it had a short duration, but many things could be done in the space of a few seconds.

"There." Yao pointed at the jungle ahead, a location fairly distant from New Denver, but close enough to do some good.

The Shadows rose, lining up at the shuttle exit. Yao looked them over; while they were all professionals, they were his responsibility as well. It was well known that General Williams had greatly respected General Chu's decisions; but even as the chosen successor of Chu, Yao was an unknown. Faulty armor or a limping soldier could get someone unnecessarily killed ... and would be avoided if possible.

The alien leader clutched at the overhead stabilizer, looking over his men, just as Yao did a few steps away. The four members facing him made a strange hand gesture, twisting a gauntlet in front of their right shoulder. With eerie symmetry, they turned to look at Yao expectantly. He gave them a half-bow.

"Commander Kiren, your people ready?"

The Raloi'a faceplate slid open, exposing more teeth than a barracuda. One eye rolled across the armored figures filling the shuttle. "They're not pretty. In fact, they're ugly, malformed, hideous examples ... but they'll get the job done." The Raloi behind him chuffed, shifting eagerly.

Yao bared his teeth in return. "Rendezvous at Alpha point. Go."

Kiren darted to one side, slapping a pauldron, bellowing names. Each soldier made a running leap into open air. "Fures! Qanou! Veces! Haldrin!" The last soldier made a small forward roll, completely unnecessary, but indicative of high spirits.

The alien leader paused, looking slyly at Yao. "I suppose I should give your group the benefit of the doubt. My lads aren't that pretty either." The reptilian's slit-pupil eye winked at him, before the soldier dove out of the shuttle.

Yao watched the alien vanish into the tossing trees, losing his outline in the foliage. Heir to General Chu though he was, he didn't dare turn around. Laughter would be very bad under the circumstances; especially since the amazons under his command took great care of their appearance. It was a task they took pride in; one of their duties was to escort high-level dignitaries, and they had to look attractive to fit the role. It got a little embarrassing when they competed to escort himself, but there were worse fates than having beautiful women around at all times. Which, in some ways, made the Raloi commander's quip even worse.

Silence filled the open space behind him, but that meant nothing. It was more than possible his squad was using private comm channels for any discussion. Restraining the urge to sigh, Yao chose to focus on the mapping feature in his HUD. They were coming up on their secondary drop point soon.

 _"Beta target in two minutes."_ The pilot confirmed his suspicions.

Yao breathed a sigh of relief, not bothering to turn around. Vengeance squad didn't need his personal oversight on everything; they knew each other's movements almost before they performed them. Besides, the threat of combat always calmed him; better a thousand fights than dealing with miffed feelings.

A heavy weight rested on his shoulders, jolting him from his sense of safety with another pack added to his already large burden. "Your turn to carry Siegfried." Ki-Yun suggested teasingly, helping Major Lin adjust the straps over Yao's armor. Her voice was poisonously sweet. "After we win this little fight, would you be a dear and leave a few of those reptiles alone with us for a few moments?"

Yao considered the request. He had no personal objection, and it would be good for the aliens to learn what wrath they had earned. Better than the alternative. For hell had no fury like a woman's scorn, especially from the women of Vengeance squad.

"Done." His tone was unemotional, a tribute to both his biological father and his adoptive one.

The heavy weight settled, making the responsive plates flex a moment before returning to their normal positions. He smiled before forcing his face back to its neutral position. The squad was proud of his strength, and took advantage of every opportunity to show it off, just as he sought opportunities to demonstrate their own capabilities.

 _"Arriving in one. Looks fast and hard ladies and gentlemen. I'll give them a little something to think about, see you at evac."_ The pilot was a member of the JSF. His sense of humor was strange, but well-meant.

"Acknowledged." Yao held a closed fist by his right ear. The soldiers at his back made their final weapons checks, settling down to the stillness he'd come to expect.

 _"In five ... four ... three ..."_ Yao put the pilots chatter out of his mind. The North Americans had many advantages, one of which was operating with such precision that it was breathtakingly deadly, but this wasn't a JSF operation.

Yao closed his eyes, playing the terrain through his mind's eye. He could almost feel the batarian encampment passing under the shuttle, the separate buildings flashing beneath his feet. Opening them again, he saw the soldiers beginning to run on the ground, some firing side-arms at the shuttle.

Ignoring the increasingly anxious calls emanating from the pilot, Yao concentrated on his perceptions. The ground made a twisting motion as the shuttle pulled around sharply; certainly a courageous move back into fire, Yao had to admit. Not that he had expected anything less.

Then he felt it, the twitch in the back of his mind. Without a thought he leaped forwards, trusting the squad at his back to follow.

Air rushed past his helmet, the HUD projecting rapidly decreasing numbers to his visor. The European AI, whose transceiver rested on his back, chirped a warning in his helmet, highlighting multiple targets on the ground. Yao spread his arms in response, feeling the air resistance push back at him. His fall steadied, slowing him to the same level as the later jumpers: Timing was everything.

Seconds passed, the ground grew larger, more definite shapes and colors. The gradual outlines of his squadmates grew, their more streamlined positions bring them closer. He watched the ground, feeling the tempo increase in his eardrums, until the moment clicked. Then, he pushed himself into the _chāorén_ position, arms sloping ahead of his body, streamlining his descent.

Siegfried, the Artificial Intelligence, chirped in Yao's helmet despite the hundreds of miles separating his blue box from their mission. That box was a secret of the E.F., a miracle of miniaturized transmission technology, somehow packaged into the precious cargo secured to Yao's back. Under the AI's direction, the red dots became squares, targets clicking to the rest of the Dragons.

There were a few moments of silence, and then the musical tones of multiple target-locks met Yao's ears. Securely hidden behind the faceplate, Yao allowed himself a snarling grin, one worthy of his sire.

Like wrath from an angry god, rockets hissed past his body. He no longer carried the launchers; his pauldrons were now devoted to supporting the weight of the incredibly expensive transceiver allowing Siegfried to journey with his team … if only in spirit. The speed of the rockets exceeded his descent, taking mere seconds to reach their targets. Explosions scattered the infantry below, creating dust clouds, hiding their landing.

 _"Dragons, shock and awe. Shuttle J-3 has covering fire."_ Major Lin's voice cut through the rushing wind. Her tone became more amused. _"Let's show the J boys how yàmǎxùn fight!"_

Yao chuckled once, deep in his chest. _Yàmǎxùn_ was a rough translation for _amazon_ , fabled warrior women from European lore. It fit well enough, but felt a little ... derogatory. Impolite.

Shaking his thoughts from their woolgathering, he drew his legs underneath himself, aided by the armor's servo-systems. Somewhere above, the shuttle pilot clicked acknowledgement, launching a smoking round directly beneath their feet.

"Siegfried, have you hacked their comm sets yet?" Yao questioned the AI unit. Unlike other models, Siegfried was the E.F's attempts to create a man-portable QEC transmitter capable of communicating with an AI kilometers away. Yao merely carried a prototype, but even then its performance was excellent. His transceiver sparkled before a voice was heard over his radio.

 _"Certainly. Data mining in progress, do you have a request?"_ The E.F. AI was more arrogant than most soldiers, but it was good at what it did. Yao knew allowing it leeway might come back to bite him later, but he'd worked with prima donnas before.

"Audio disruption, pump heavy metal to their ears." Yao slammed into the ground, cutting off any further orders as he recovered. Piezo-electric converters worked overtime, changing the sudden shift in kinetic energy into electrical potential energy for his shield's capacitors. It was a bonus for aerial drops, extra powerful shields while the jumper recovered.

All around him the elite Dragon squad hit the ground, their mass totaling multiple metric tons of armed and angry warriors. The smoke covered their positions, but poorly aimed rounds spattered against their shields, like rain drops on windows.

 _"Hard points marked, high-value targets selected."_ Siegfried intoned. _"Eardrum-buster ready to deploy. A little gift from the last century, heavy metal polka at three hundred decibels."_

Yao flicked on his lens lights even as his team activated theirs. The effect from outside the cloaking dust cloud was as if demons had awoken, staring through the darkness at their souls. He felt his grin stretch, twisting into something bloodier. ' _You'll pay for the General! All of you!'_

"Weapons free," he spoke into the microphone as clearly as possible. "Make each shot count."

The squad around him opened fire, using the infrared modes to find targets through the dust. Ignoring his own order, Yao spun a slow circle, letting Siegfried get an accurate reading from his own armor sensors. Ostensibly, they were omni-directional, but no tool was perfect. Providing a full-360 scan improved accuracy by a few percentage points; not much, but when outnumbered locally, every bit counted.

 _"Scan complete. Proceed ahead thirty meters to the grain storage container, then take cover."_ The AI's words were accompanied by a blinking cerulean line overlay on the HUD, showing the way.

 _"Dragons forward! Suppress right, I want those squints screaming for their mothers!"_ Major Lin bellowed from one side. On the other, Ki-Yun echoed her orders, more profanely. The two led parts of the squad, but only he could hear both of them at once, save on unique channels. As the overall commander, Yao had been forced to delegate power, especially once Siegfried had offered to help out with the Vengeance missions.

Yao glanced at the markings, and made a decision. "Siegfried, deploy the distraction. Ladies, give 'em hell."

As they emerged from the dust cloud, Yao could actually see multiple batarian clusters taking cover. Their expressions, from what he could see, were a mixture of rage and fear. A universal reaction. He pulled his own rifle off its holder, trusting his over-sized armor to take the hits for him; poor tactical planning, but he had knowledge the batarians did not.

His machine gun spat fire in an angry burst, stitching pockmarks over the alien cover. Nearly half a hundred rounds soared through the air, leaving small trails before slamming into enemy shields and armor. He angled the Typhoon higher, waiting.

The reaction was better than he'd expected. An entire row of batarians shot up from cover, actually dropping their weapons to wrestle with their helmets. His light machine gun warmed up and ready, effortlessly burned through their shields. Two Dragons, wielding slower-firing Avengers made their more precise shots, picking off those he'd only damaged.

To the right, a building exploded, courtesy of Lin's squad. Something must have been inside; the explosion was well over what a standard grenade would have caused.

Yao checked left, noting Major Ki-Yun's accurate barrage keeping their foes at bay. The earpiece hacking helped tremendously, giving them easy kills, something they could never expect ... not that they were complaining.

The blue line ended in some sort of concrete hut, and Yao stepped inside. He had to crouch; he was nearly seven feet tall in his socks, and this building was definitely not designed for him. The rest of his squad squeezed in close, hugging the walls as the batarians began recovering.

The rate of incoming fire became stronger, chipping away at their walls. His Dragons responded, returning fire with equal heat. It was evident their foes were embarrassed; being caught off guard was galling to anyone after all.

 _"Sir, I am detecting reports of an attack two kilometers west of your position. I would assume the Shadows squad is performing their portion of the mission."_ The AI spoke into Yao's ear, surprising him.

Yao paused, withdrawing into the intellectual calm he'd learned from his biological father. The situation was proceeding as he'd anticipated, although the Shadows were doing better than he'd hoped. Of course, that meant there would be a higher concentration on his own position ... all the better.

Gunfire boomed louder, making the inner walls of their sanctum quake. One of his Dragons reeled back from the door, cursing. Blood leaked from the underside of her left arm, giving it a formidable appearance. She stumbled back to the medic, who was already pulling out her pack.

He took her place, letting a constant stream of lead coat the area. Multiple squares of crimson-target red, courtesy of Siegfried, began springing up. Yao sent the targeting data once more, and his Dragons responded with another mini-rocket barrage. The tiny streaks shout through the door, spreading out to blast chaos into the enemy ranks.

But these were no neophyte shock troops; Yao had chosen this location for its importance tactically, and the resistance showed. Weapons above the normal caliber had been stored here, too deeply buried for conventional weaponry to destroy. Some of those weapons had obviously been dug out, making the walls shook as a heavy weapon took its toll. Cracks raced down the sides.

"Siegfried, ETA on fire mission?" Yao asked the AI.

The AI sounded smug. _"Ask and ye shall receive. Your support is here."_

Deafening explosions began hitting rocking their position. Screams, rising over the explosions, started coming closer.

Yao backed up, and knelt to one knee. "Incoming hostiles." He muttered.

It was barely enough warning. Just as his squad was readying themselves, a swarm of batarians appeared in the doorway, fear in their eyes. Some of their armor was on fire, the result of liberal incendiary rounds from the Kodiak shuttle.

The Dragons opened fire, meeting the crazed attackers with a wall of death. Two of the Dragons wielded Typhoons, light machine guns that turned their task from impossible to easily accomplishable. Seven people against over fifty would ordinarily be a problem; but the very premise of elite forces was to bring superior firepower in a minimal package.

" _Grenade!"_ A yellow flashing circle darted across Yao's visor. He lunged for it, batting it back outside the opening. That one glimpse showed him the raging inferno on other side. One Kodiak, reconfigured for assaults and fully armed with four pairs of 20mm fully automatic mass accelerated machine guns firing incendiary rounds, was capable of mowing through an entire platoon in ten seconds.

The sight distracted him from a second grenade, flung through the opening. But someone else had seen it. A piercing war cry smashed the air as Ki-Yun leapt fully on the explosive. Yao saw it happen in slow motion, her body pulling itself more tightly over the small innocuous device.

The blast threw her body against the ceiling, what concussive force not blocked by her armor spreading sideways into the ranks. Yao stumbled under its energy. One single thought ran through his head: He wasn't General Chu, no matter how hard he tried; Chu had been cold as ice, and right now Yao felt the fury of a thousand ancestors stiffen his resolve.

Something heavy hit the ground by his feet. Yao didn't bother looking; he was too busy charging the crowded doorway. Metal darts pinged off the concrete walls, displaying the unconventional small arms carried by the batarians.

An interesting fact about Yao's upbringing floated behind the cold singing through the chaos: His biological father had been a martial artist, not overly famous, but renowned for his reflexes. He raised Yao by himself until his untimely death; Yao had been sixteen. General Chu had taken in the orphan and built on that foundation, adding training in tactics and strategy to the reflexive decision-making base.

One thing that had passed through his parents minds, both biological and surrogate, was how that training could be used against the JSF, the EF or heavens forbid, the SGB. Neither had anticipated him using that training against a race of aliens, completely unfamiliar to their methods of combat.

From Yao's perspective, the enemies before him were acting like partially trained civilians; although a few appeared to be competent enough. His blade, heavy reinforced steel manufactured in the heart of an element zero forge, spun in one hand. Its tip pierced through weak points like butter, sweeps of the length cut into the soft tissue under helmets as it had been designed to do by the original makers.

The batarian perspective, from later camera recovery, was something different.

From the external chaos, the inside the holed grain silo seemed filled with monsters, red eyes glaring outward furiously, immune to the fiercest of assaults. Overhead, a gunship rained hell on anything too far from shelter, somehow blasting through armored points before anti-air weaponry could be brought to bear. What was even worse though, was the demon with blue eyes. It was taller than a salarian, wider than a krogan, and bore a blade like an asari swordsmistress.

Two batarians had tried grappling, and were blasted into the floor by the demon's feet, limbs broken, ribs shattered. Another three that brought omni-blades into play were simply run through, their attacks dying with them.

It was an unwelcome realization that while guns were superior weapons overall, close-quarters negated the range necessary for that superiority. Swords, however, were _designed_ for close quarters combat.

Yao charged out the opening, killing with each stroke. His movement was fluid as it was graceful, displaying an art that took years to master. It was like the blade itself was an extension of the soul. The Dragons, equally enraged, boiled after him, guns blazing.

The rest of the fight was over within minutes. At that point.

Yao surveyed the scene, witnessing how the room was completely plastered with blood and gore. Chunks of meats and spills of blood colored the walls and stained the floors. The area more or less resembled a psycho's playroom. Sudden movement caught Yao's attention. A batarian was attempting to escape the scene, being forced to crawl due to his wounds. Yao merely shook his head in disappointment and disgust. The batarian didn't have the honor to accept his fate like a true soldier. Walking over, Yao was easily able to close the distance with the wounded batarian. He grabbed the alien by the straps of his armor and flipped him over with a single hand, a true display of his strength.

Pressing his foot, Yao leaned his weight on the batarian's chest. Around him, the Dragon squad was making itself busy, going over the bodies.

"What do you _want_ , human?" The batarian coughed.

Yao pressed his knee deeper into the batarians chest. "The death of your species. But for now, I will settle for the name of your commander. Who brought you here?"

The batarian had enough energy to twist sideways, gasping under the weight. "Go to ' _kalam_ ,' human. You barbarians think you can beat the Hegemony? Not even the Council has the courage to take us on."

Deepening his voice, Yao gave a sinister chuckle. "'Barbarian,' says the slaver. Hah." He leaned closer, putting more of his three hundred pounds on the alien's chest. "I found out something, you have a book, the ' _Pillars of Strength_ ,' yes?"

"Yes ..." the batarian hissed, struggling now to push the knee higher.

"Most interesting reading." Yao snapped a knife from his belt. "Have you seen my squad mates? The ones with knives?"

He allowed the batarian enough slack to see. To one side, Major Lin was on her knees before a body, working at its face with her blade. Her mask was open, but her face was emotionless.

"You see," Yao whispered, "You killed one of my people. That makes me irritated, good quality soldiers are hard to find. But for my squad ... it made them ' _angry'._ "

The batarian realized what was going on. "NO!" He slapped both hands against Yao's chest. "Not their eyes! They'll never go to-"

"I don't care." Yao slammed his helmet into the batarian's defenseless skull. "What is more useful to you, is that my _people_ don't care. In fact, they _want_ your soldiers to fall into the Pit. _'Kalam,'_ as you way."

He rocked a little as the terrified alien fought. The fear in the alien's expression was highlighted by the extra pair of eyes, showing a dual stereo quantity. He let it grow a bit more before striking the nerve clusters in both of the batarian's shoulders. "The name."

The batarian froze, trying to shrink into the earth without moving. "Lieutenant Commander Toren. He discovered this system, told the Hegemony we needed to attack. But even he has to answer to Admiral Ban, we all do. Look all I know is that we are preparing to leave… that's all I know, I swear!"

Yao let the pathetic creature spew information at him. Much of it was not pertinent for him, but Siegfried was listening, relaying anything new to the other generals. Finally, the excuse of a soldier wound down, trembling under his grasp.

Yao lessened the pressure somewhat. "You are going to give your leaders a message. Tell them the blind don't seize greatness. Now, which is your gun hand?"

"Ah ..." the batarian twitched his right hand.

Yao made sure his smile carried through his voice. "Good. I'll be sending a half-blind, useless soldier. Just to get their attention ..." He raised his knife.

The screams under him garnered no sympathy from the Dragons. They were no SGB, but they had lost one of their family. Blood paid for blood.

Once he was done with unleashing his fury, Yao carefully wiped yellow blood from his knife, cleaning its length on a convenient rag. On his back, the transceiver hummed, transferring as much data as could be pulled from the strange computers the aliens used. The sensors whirred in a quiet duet, angling for the best angle as he worked.

Major Lin walked up to him, faceplate still open. She saluted, conscious of the blood on his armor. "Sir, the place is clear."

"Good. Charges set?" Yao slid the small blade home under his forearm.

"Yes sir, the cache was right where the scans said they should be. Should we detonate?"

The transceiver squealed suddenly, pouring a flood of information across Yao's faceplate. He held up one hand, pausing the major. "One moment …" he scanned the data, aided by the muttered audio from the AI. "Wait … are you certain, Siegfried?"

"' _Certainly. I have a ninety-eight point nine-five percent chance of accuracy. The convoy matches three observations from the SGB. I take it you are not going to follow their tactics?'"_

"Indeed not. I prefer to rescue slaves, not kill them." Yao swung back to the woman in front. "Lin, contact the Raloi. Coordinate a new meeting point; we have approximately one hundred human hostages in a convoy, twenty kilometers southeast."

Her mouth curved upwards. "Aye sir. Also?"

"Yes?" Yao turned back.

Lin smiled. "Ki-Yun should live. She'll be eating through a straw for a few weeks, but she'll be fine."

"Excellent." Yao realized his own faceplate was up when he saw Lin's eyes twinkle. He fought down the smile. "Is she stabilized?"

She nodded at the shuttle, settled on a former housing slab half-way across the clearing. "Just tucking her in before the pilot takes her back to base. General Williams has assured us she will receive the best care they have."

Yao checked the time, making a mental note to check in on his charge. Possibly recommend her for a medal, saving the squad at risk of her life "Very good. I will look into setting up an ambush. You see what the Raloi have to say. Clear?"

"Clear." Lin saluted before spinning on one heel.

* * *

 **SSV Nagasaki**

 **Cruiser**

 **Private Quarters**

"Sir?" A voice in the darkness spoke. The sound of an alarm buzzing followed soon after, robbing him of any more rest.

Alone in his private quarters, Commander Hackett awoke with groggy disorientation as the lights slowly brightened. When he finally came to, he discovered that he was still in his uniform; apparently he'd forgotten to shower off the grim of the previous day. Uncomfortable. He looked down; the datapad concerning the repair status of his ship was still held tightly in his hands.

"Ughhh!" Hackett groaned as he raised himself to sit on the edge of the bunk. He still felt a little nauseous and the room seemed to have a slight spin; the symptoms of sleep deprivation beginning to make themselves clear. Up to this point, he'd only allowed himself a measly two hours each day to rest, but his mind and body was starting to deteriorate.

With his senses partially regained, Hackett was aware of the continued buzzing of the alarm. It only buzzed for a few more seconds before it was shut off.

"Thank you, Withers."

"Not a problem. Should I call for an onboard physician?" The ship's AI asked.

"No. I'll be fine." Hackett brushed off the synthetic's assistance, reaching instead for the discarded datapad. "What time is it?"

"0124 hours, commander." The AI responded as he finally appeared on the nearby holo-tank.

Hackett still had to fight back the slight irritation at Withers' constant intrusions. The AI's holographic display showed a classic lawyer with clean shaved face and business wear that was common for individuals of that profession. It made interacting with the AI all the more difficult as the commander felt as if he was in a court room where everything he said could be used against him. When he'd questioned Withers on his choice of avatar, the AI merely replied he desired to appear as a professional.

"0124? That is three hours longer than what I had set the alarm for."

"Indeed I am well aware. During your rest I took the liberty of silencing the device. Analysis indicated you could use the additional rest; records indicate that five hours of extended rest can make a great difference."

Hackett unconsciously began grinding his teeth together, feeling a headache coming. For all the problems that Withers' avatar caused, it was his obsessive desire to be helpful that truly made him insufferable. Even when facing the modest of problems, Hackett could always expect the AI popping up and asking how it could be of service. To make matters worse, it was the formal manner Withers' possessed that really irritated him. It was almost as if the AI was either doting on him or patronizing him, Hackett couldn't really tell which, causing even more annoyance.

In the back of his most conspiratorial recesses of his mind, Hackett briefly considered the possibility that Withers was purposefully annoying him for amusement. If it wasn't for how helpful the synthetic intelligence could be in the worst of scenarios, Hackett would have already disposed of the damn thing. A desire he had never kept secret.

"I set that alarm to 2330 for a good reason." Hackett laid out.

"I apologize for the change commander, but you need to take it easy. Physical scans indicate you are beginning to suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, coupled with sleep deprivation for induced nausea. If you aren't careful you can become greatly ill."

The moment the AI had mentioned nausea, Hackett felt himself nearly throwing him. Luckily he was able to contain it, but made a mental note to purge his mouth of the scent with mouth wash.

"I don't have time to be sick. There is still a lot of work that has to be done and I am not planning on sitting down until its done." Hackett replied firmly.

"Well technically speaking you are sitting down, sir." Withers corrected. "In the interests of continuing, I have already downloaded your instructions from your pad last night and passed them down to the engineering detail."

Hackett had to bite down the urge to flick the AI off, instead sighing in frustration. It was too early for him to be dealing with this. Getting to his feet, Hackett headed straight for the bathroom. One the way there he placed the data pad in his hands on the desk nearby, deciding to take a good look at it once he finished with tending to himself. He took a brief shower and got dressed into another uniform before taking a seat in front of his desk.

Picking the data pad once again, he eyed the reports of his ship. A careful examination revealed that repairs were indeed far exceeding expectations and deadlines. The _Nagasaki's_ FTL drive was finally operational and her engines were nearly back to full operation. The technicians were finishing off the last of the damaged internal relays on deck four and six as well as providing a full weapons diagnostics. The ship's armor was almost back to pristine condition, though the obvious signs of welding multiple slabs of salvaged ablative plates clearly showed on her hull.

The _SSV Tampa_ was in better shape as well, with her main cannon nearly repaired, and communicator back online. That last part had accelerated repair efforts exponentially, combining the networking capabilities of both vessels.

Grudgingly, Hackett had to admit that Withers was maintaining the ship just fine without his supervision. Surprising, but good.

For a brief moment the commander gave himself time to reminisce on the previous events. In all honesty, being constantly on the move, using an asteroid field to avoid an alien fleet was _not_ how Hackett had dreamed his expedition would lead to.

It had been nearly two weeks since the batarians had arrived in the system. Since then he had taken command over the few surviving vessels and has been actively avoiding the routine patrols that were constantly searching for him. Hackett looked anxiously at the small holographic projection in the center of his computer screen, built into the corner of his cabin's office. The feed from the small force of spy drones kept constant track of batarian traffic around the system watching all the alien movements they could. Since cruisers didn't posses any reconnaissance drones or probes, the allied flotilla had to rely solely on the corvettes.

The small flotilla of Alliance and Confederate ships was silently following the corvettes, cruising in between the asteroid field, keeping as much of the field between them and their hunters as possible. After ten days of near missies and narrow escapes, even he was starting to get frustrated with waiting.

' _What is taking them so long?'_ Hackett thought.

"Commander?" Withers' voice spoke once again from the holo-tank.

"What is it now, Withers?" Hackett responded. He hid the slight embarrassment of forgetting the AI had still been in the room.

"I have just received an encrypted message from the _SSV Damascus._ "

Hackett nearly fell out of his seat. The _Damascus_? That was the ship Dain had escaped in. Was he trying to relay important information? Hackett hoped it contained good news, but doubted it. "Play it immediately!"

The AI complied, revealing the message's contents.

 **0200 hours, January 4** **th** **2157 (Alliance Military Calendar)**

 **Origin: UNKNOWN/ Narrow-band point-to-point transmission/Quantum Entanglement Communication array/Level -5 Alliance item.**

 _ **Priority**_ **Transmission XX27HOTEL-XX**

 **Encryption Code: ALPHA**

 **Public Access Key:** N/A

 **From:** SSV Damascus, tertiary adjunct system, file support: unimatrix-zero

 **To:** SSV Nagasaki, secondary prime system, command-control operative

 **Subject:** PROGRES UPDATE/ETA/Operation Relieve the Alamo

 **Classification:** TOP SECRET, AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY (Section 1, Zeta Directive)

/file extraction-reconstitution complete/

/start file/

Dubbed Operation Relieve the Alamo, liberation of besieged colony has commenced. High priority colonies have been secured with the QRF receiving all essential supplies for [ _data deleted_ ]. Admirals Spencer and Drescher are to lead the operation. In the event of failure, all Alliance and Confederate ships will delete any data on other nearby colonies once they exited out of the [ _data deleted_ ] Relay. Use of battleships has been approved as well as all existing weapons, nuclear or otherwise. ETA five days from arrival. This is the first and last authorized message into enemy held territory. Any surviving vessels in the system prepare for Alliance counter-attack. Repeat: Counter-attack is imminent.

/end file/

/scrambled destruction process enabled/

Press **ENTER** to continue.

Hackett stared at the message, a chill running down his spine. Five days. Another one hundred and twenty hours until relief arrived.

He let his head gently touch the desk's surface, an uncertain feeling making him weak for a moment.

"Sir? Is there a problem?" Wither's voice came from behind his shoulder.

"No. Everything is … good. Better than it's been in a long time." Hackett murmured.

He shook himself. "Withers, I need to make an announcement. Change the schedule, after my announcement, I want a fifty percent reduction in repair duties. I need my crew rested and ready for battle."

"Understood, sir. Schedule shift in progress."

"Good." Hackett rose to his feet. "Let's make what time we have left count."

* * *

 **New Denver Outskirts**

 **Shanxi**

 **1** **st** **Allied platoon, Vengeance 1-4**

Yao waited, dark armor blending with the shadows. The team had been divided into two squads, now that one of the leaders was incapacitated, leaving Major Lin in charge of the squad hidden in the ground.

"Siegfried, are the Raloi here?" Yao keyed the transceiver. He'd wanted to leave the communication device at the last stopping point, but had been overruled. Still, if it came down to either his life or the chunk of metal sitting on his back, he'd choose his life every time.

" _Commander Kiren assures me they are in position. Their commander also says that you stand out like a narthuk in a field of blumen."_ Siegfried's voice shifted slightly. _"I have several innovative malware projects I could test on their security, if you like, sir."_

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No thanks. I already promised the ladies they had first shot at them, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's to not tick off angry women trained to kill."

" _Wise advice, although it is somewhat puzzling."_ Siegfried sounded puzzled.

"Why?" Yao asked. His gaze shifted over the ground, looking for the oncoming slavers.

" _Which of the two genders is the more dangerous? According to my calculations, the average greater mass and stamina should prove superior, and yet you constantly disprove the point by allowing your subordinates to take actions you could do yourself quite easily. Why?"_

Yao sighed. "That … is a complicated question. Better suited for a non-combat situation, if that's all right?"

'" _This is a noncombat situation right now, however.'"_ The AI pointed out logically.

"True, but humans do not switch from philosophy to war in a heartbeat. Besides, they're close; I can sense it." Yao trained his Typhoon forwards.

" _Sense? That is ridiculous. I have all your sensors keyed into my hardware, and I detect nothing."_ Siegfried sounded almost insulted.

"Hush." Yao ordered, scanning again. He switched to the comm channels. "Vengeance squad, look sharp. Siegfried doesn't see anything, but they can't jam your eyes and ears. Use them."

Double clicks responded to his warning, assuaging his anxiety a little.

Relaxing slightly, he began to pay more attention to his surroundings. The trees were all deciduous, and the season was not late enough for them to have begun falling, which helped stealth somewhat. Their brown trunks were haphazardly arranged, a true forest by any definition.

Yao did a thermal scan, detecting only a few small rodents hiding just beneath the surface in their dens. As he watched, they faded from view, almost as if they too felt something coming. He gave the vanished animals a slow nod; they were survivors, and as such deserved respect.

A harsh scream sounded next to his ears, startling him into movement. He spun, whipping out the Typhoon into an action-ready position. Then, he stopped, lowering the LMG.

There, resting on a branch not ten feet away, rested a hawk-like animal. Its fierce gaze watched him, reminiscent of how General Chu would give him a once-over after a wrong answer.

Yao smirked, returning to his vigil. Likewise, the hawk turned in a similar direction, brown and tan feathers helping it hide even more effectively than the raloi. Its head twitched suddenly, peering into the shrubs with laser-like intensity.

Following its gaze, Yao caught a glimpse of a bipedal form, crouching behind a bush. It faded back behind a tree, but he could follow its progress by dint of the faint sounds. "You see that Siegfried?" He asked.

'" _See what? There's nothing there.'"_ Siegfried returned.

Yao focused his helmet on the spot, upping the magnification. "There. Movement. Calculate for wind shifts, and do a thermal reading."

The sensors whirred for a moment. " _I don't see anyone …"_ the AI said slowly.

"But …?" Yao prompted.

" _But there is something large there, not on the thermal registers. Since there are no mammals, reptiles or arthropods with that form of masking capability, I would assume it is sentient."_

"Raloi?" Yao eased his LMG up, second finger joining the first on the trigger housing.

" _Negative. All Raloi positions are accounted for. That is no ally."_

Yao switched channels. "Stand by. Hostiles sighted, scouting party most likely."

The comm clicked open, from Major Lin. " _We haven't seen much for scouting so far, did they grow a brain stem?"_

A hissing voice broke into the channel. _"Philosssophy later. We wait for them to passss, and take them. Shadowssss will follow, return to kill. Kiren out."_

Grimacing, Yao checked his HUD. The Raloi had scattered, and were slowly moving past his own position, evidently keeping up with something he couldn't see.

" _Sir, I am now detecting the main flank coming this way, ten minutes estimated."_ Siegfrieds voice came through once more. _"Without the Raloi, I suggest waiting until a better position shows itself."_

"No." Yao knew what his gut instincts were telling him. "We let them past this point, those humans will never see a human planet ever again."

Growls over the channel echoed his sentiment. He felt a sense of pride swell. "Xio, send up a drone."

A double-click responded, before the whisper-soft noise of an aerial surveillance unit reached his ears. To one side, a gliding body-shape rose above the treetops, gaining altitude. He followed its progress, watching its pale underbelly fade into the sky. The noise followed suit, almost before he'd noticed its presence.

He waited, tensely checking and double checking everything. Practice made perfect, but no one was perfect, so he checked.

" _Xio here. I have them, sir."_ Her voice came through clearly, rising nervously. _"I see … over thirty guards. Two tanks at the front of the column, a hover tank at the tail end. More soldiers, we have nearly a hundred soldiers and … sir. Drone's counting over two hundred prisoners."_

Yao raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying this could be difficult?" He deliberately used a deeper quality in his voice, one he normally reserved for calming panicking cadets. He didn't have to use it often on his team, but needing assurance was understandable. They'd been fighting hard for over a two weeks now without rest. General Chu had fallen in the earliest days, taking thirty thousand of the enemy with him, but his loss to the NCRA was still deeply felt.

A throaty chuckle came back, in Major Lin's tones. _"Careful there. Don't challenge a girl unless you're prepared for the consequences commander."_

He recognized her tactic, flirting to reduce tension. "Consequences are something I _always_ consider, major. Would you like a side bet for this one?"

Their reactions couldn't be seen, but Yao knew them well. Even before Chu had died, he had worked with the Vengeance squad.

" _Um, sirs, if we might make a suggestion?"_ That was Sergeant Zhao, one of the less vocal members of the squad, but highly in tune with the group dynamics.

"Go ahead, Zhao." He answered. This should be good.

" _We had a vote, the last time you two had a bet running, and we have a proposal."_

Major Lin's voice came back, accompanied by the distant sound of rumbling vehicles. _"Time is running short, ladies. Make it quick."_

Sergeant Zhao responded quickly. _"Right. Major Lin and Lieutenant Yao, the squad challenges you to a kill count. Losers treat the winners to a full dinner and entertainment."_

He was too late to voice an objection. _"Agreed!"_ Major Lin cut in before he could say anything. _"May the best woman win!"_

Rumbling prevented him from following up the statement. "Siegfried, positions?"

A distinctly amused AI responded. _"Forwarding estimated position. And may I say, best wishes with your courting?"_

"You may not." Yao growled. "Paint them."

The map in his HUD showed a long column of red dots proceeding down the open stretch. It wasn't a true road, just a series of openings inside a forest. Scouts could find the best route, and heavy tanks could plow through the terrain, making a roadway where none had been before. He suddenly noticed a harpoon quivering in the ground near him. Yao momentarily entertained the thought of using it for silent kills, but though against it. The harpoon sniper rifles had proven to be too unreliable with only one shot available with a long reload time.

" _Lieutenant!"_ Xio sounded panicked. _"Sir! Miscalculation sir, major problem! The soldiers aren't guarding the prisoners; the prisoners' are guarding the soldiers!"_

Yao paused, confusion plastered all over his face. "Come again?"

The specialist's gulp for air was audible. _"There aren't hundreds of prisoners; there are around forty prisoners all outside the soldier column!"_

Yao froze in anger. "Change of plan. Shadows squad, do you copy?"

Major Kiren responded. _"Yesss, good hunt."_ There was a wet sound, something Yao chose to ignore. _"Their ssscouts are gone, no one the wissser."_

"Good." Yao hurriedly checked the map. "We have hostages, thirty civilians around a batarian platoon. The prisoners are a sort of shield wall."

The alien understood immediately. _"You wisssh usss to sssteal the prisssonersss? Done."_

Yao thought a moment before he keyed the comm one more time. "Kiren, how come you're speech is … altered somewhat?"

A deep hissing came through the network, similar to a venomous snake before it struck. _"It isss battle. With fightsss, we sssee things differently."_

"Ah. Thank you." Yao clicked it off. That was one bit of information he'd wished the chain of command had seen fit to pass down. Hissing was harder to understand than normal speech, even with the aid of translation software.

Below, he could see the first batarian wheeled vehicle in his life. It was massive, trundling through the forest in a fashion more reminiscent of giant beetles than machinery. Its wheels crushed saplings, brutally forcing aside everything in its path. Its power made the stone ledge upon which Yao was crouched behind tremble, an interesting sensation.

"Yao here. Tank in sight, let it go. Shadow-lead, what's your ETA?"

The tank below growled, a blue field surrounding it briefly as a falling tree struck its armor. The shield hissed and snapped, scorching the wood, ultimately failing to deter the mass. The wheels spun in place, making the felled monarch of the forest shake as if in fury.

"Hold it," Yao watched the tank struggle. "We may have an opportunity. Watch for openings."

Somehow, he knew the Raloi were near, even though he couldn't see them. It was something in his training, passed on from his father. He couldn't explain it, and wouldn't try. Someday, he would have to pass it on to his own descendants, should he have them; teach them how to trust their instincts.

A clanging noise drew his attention, coming from the stopped vehicle. He couldn't see anything, but the second tank was grinding to a halt. After a moment, a squad of batarian soldiers, clad in a matte black armor that screamed 'special forces' ran forwards. They busied themselves cutting apart the tree, laughing and chattering in their harsh tongue. Siegfried provided a running translation, scripting the words across the bottom of his faceplate, so as to not interrupt his sense of hearing.

Screams, faint to his ears, came from further back the armored column. Yao shifted perspectives, clicking through the Amazon's helmet cameras. When he reached the view afforded by Sergeant Zhao, his blood ran cold.

A batarian soldier was manhandling a human woman, and obviously enjoying it. The scene began to grow, alerting Yao to a potential problem.

"Stand down, sergeant," he growled. "We aren't ready yet."

The scene stood still. _"Sir, she's hurting!"_

"So will we if this isn't done right." He snapped back. "She's been hurt before, look at her clothes. Wait a couple minutes."

A deeper level of violence began to enact on the screen. "Stay down. That's an order!"

The sergeant snarled under her breath, but obeyed. _"All right, but that mother—"_

Hissing laughter broke over the channel, interrupting the exchange. Yao shifted focus to what was actually in front him. "Right, the Shadows are on the hunt. Support and rescue, move it people!"

Below, a batarian shouted in surprise as he vanished into the undergrowth. The sound of rending metal came from the bushes, then the batarian's body flew into the air. It collided with the tank, falling face down.

Two of the batarian's comrades sprayed fire at the suspect shrubbery, cutting it down with lethal efficiency.

Yao, however, had kept his eyes on the downed batarian. It had rolled over slightly, revealing deep tear marks cutting clean through the chest armor plate, leaking a yellow fluid. The apparent batarian medic crouched at the fallen soldier's side, touching the ripped plating. The alien then clutched the side of his head, bellowing into the faceplate.

"That's our cue people, light 'em up!" Yao leaped off the ledge, rolling to dissipate the unneeded impact. He came to his feet, LMG ready; to one side, a raloi figure shimmered into view, disappearing a heartbeat later.

Yao pressed the Typhoon's firing stud, forcing the batarian crews into cover. Two Dragons came up beside him, spitting more accurate fire at the tank.

Return fire spattered Yao's armor, scarring the plates with gray streaks. These batarians were better trained than their earlier counterparts, popping out of cover to snap off only a few shots before taking cover once more.

A red square, highlighting an incoming grenade appeared, floating towards Yao, but a raloi materialized out of nowhere, batting it away with a chortling snap. One of the Dragons shoulder-launchers popped into sight, launching a missile into the open hatch of the following tank.

There was just enough time for a single exclamation emanate from the vehicle, then fire streamed out of the opening, imitating a lesser volcano.

Yao dove into cover, evading another quick burst that would have shortened his lifespan by a head. He studied the map for a moment, watching the dots shift. The thirty dots indicating the hostages were falling to the back of the line while the contingent seemed to be spreading sideways in a fluid envelopment maneuver. He shut it down with a grim smile. The next few minutes would prove whether or not he'd live long enough to enjoy winning that bet.

"Yao here, they took the bait. Shadows, you're clear to make a run, make it count. Vengeance squad, it's do-or-die time."

The forward tank rumbled to life, swiveling its main turret. Yao froze, hadn't it been trapped under the tree earlier?

He ducked as the first round whistled past his cover, rolling sideways to avoid the shrapnel. An answering rocket salvo barely dented the metal beast's armor, although it did draw its fire.

Yao swept a line of fire at the oncoming circle of soldiers, beginning to feel peeved at the world. "I thought we just left this party," he muttered. "Mental note, do not attempt any rescue missions for at least one week."

" _Hear, hear."_ Major Lin's voice came through the comm. She had the squad's other Typhoon, and was using it to good effect, switching firing modes every few seconds. The bullet stream shifted from a line of fire started by incendiary rounds to soldiers staggering behind trees from her armor-piercing rounds before switching back, a deadly combination by any measure.

" _We got something new Lieutenant. New armor, looks female."_ Sergeant Zhao's voice warned.

Yao looked up, spotting the figure with little trouble. It was a recognizable lithe figure, very obviously female among the blocky batarian armored forms. The deep blue armor, lighter on the gloves and helmet with its strange grooves, made it easier to detect, but that didn't set it apart; with very little effort it could have vanished into the mass of bodies. But it didn't; the batarians were very careful to give it a wide berth, save the ones in matte black armor.

He nodded to himself; the Special Forces were indeed present. "Siegfried, can you tell me what that is?"

The view zoomed closer, faint lines of code scrolling past the edges of his sight. _"Non-batarian, as if you needed to know that. Hmm, very different weapon types if you're interested. She also has a large number of notches in her rifle, presumably a sniper? Bio-scans are showing a certain amount of respect or fear in the batarians. That's all I can tell you."_

Scowling once more, Yao shifted his stance, putting as many rounds into the visible batarians. The rest had taken cover, sending volleys in his direction – a screamed warning hit his ears, forcing him to duck in automatic response.

Yao rolled, unable to get any farther down. Something powerful lanced through the fallen log he'd been using, shattering a small boulder that had been at his back. Looking up, he saw the female figure swinging the longest rifle he'd ever seen in his direction, tracking him. Vision enhancements caught a slight twitching of her finger, and the warning tone Siegfried used resounded through his helmet.

He dodged again, this time ducking flat to his front before rolling in the opposite direction. The bulky transceiver made the maneuver difficult, splinters from the bare miss slapped against his armor like shrapnel. Quickly, he made a decision. "Siegfried, I'm dropping the pack. Need the speed."

" _Understood. I'll do what I can until it is destroyed … although the E.F. will be displeased by the loss. It cost more than three cruisers, fully manned."_ Siegfried sounded amused, but then quickly resumed a colder tone." _Be warned, I can't hack her channels, her hardware looks much more sophisticated than the batarian systems."_

"Great, an intellectual." Yao hit the quick-release. The resulting speed boost allowed him to whip away from the female's next shot; she was targeting _him!_

A silent grin crossed his face. This time, he pulled the Predator from his side holster, breaking her concentration with a wild shot in her direction. To his astonishment, she vanished in a flash of blue, reappearing across the clearing with a clear shot at his back. Only the mapping hardware in his gear allowed him to detect her position before she took another shot.

" _Warning! Malware attack, coming from multiple sources. I am tasked to capacity."_ Siegfried's calm voice interrupted, almost costing Yao once more.

"Keep them busy." Yao tossed a grenade at a covered batarian squad before ducking out of another sniper shot. "Ancestors! Why is she picking on me?"

" _We're surrounded, Lieutenant. Looks like they have us where they want us."_ Came Major Lin's sober assessment. _"She's probably looking for a – watch it Zhao, left flank! – probably looking for a disabling shot. Or killing shot, we might know as much as you do."_

"Like _hell!"_ Yao kicked up his performance a notch, narrowing his focus to ignore the batarians, centering on the woman trying to kill him. Instincts were trained for a reason, either you trusted them, or you didn't. Right now, there was no choice.

The next few minutes comprised of involuntary leaps, instinctual shooting and a great deal of breathing. He found himself drawing closer to the female shooter, despite her leaping retreats in blurs of incandescent fire.

"She's fast, but I'm getting closer." He panted into the mike. The lack of response should have worried him, but he trusted his team.

Finally, by dint of lobbing a grenade in her direction while tracking her motions, Yao managed to get close enough to squeeze a shot into her rifle. He'd meant to hit her face-plate, but the rifle had been too fast, following his movements with inhuman reflexes.

She closed the distance in an instant, blurring directly into his uniquely crafted ebony armor with the force of a pile driver. The impact threw the Predator from his hand, leaving him unarmed. Only decades of experience allowed him to deflect a lightning-quick follow up strike aimed at his face. Yao sensed surprise emanating from his opponent, and capitalized on it.

The female figure barely reached Yao's chest, but she was obviously highly trained, with gloriously fast reflexes. He had encountered three other people with a similar gift; each of them had gone on to achieve black belts, and invitations to the NCRA Corps. He'd bested them all, but it had always been a near thing.

Yao locked himself into the fight, watching her moves the same way an alligator watched its prey float down river. He found himself moving in the circular motions he'd drilled others for years, deflecting her blows off the armored forearms of his armor. It was fortunate the protection was there; her strikes were becoming more powerful, as if the fight were invigorating her.

Pulses of blue began accompanying her motions, subtly helping her evade his own counter-strikes. Two times he overextended, and was forced to use his superior mass to recover.

He landed a blow on her shoulder, nearly spinning her back. His follow-up jab missed solely due to her slipping on the uneven terrain. In a flash, she was gone, thirty feet away. Yao growled in fury just as she vanished again, reappearing with the power of a freight train in his chest plate once more.

Yao flew backwards, tumbling into a backwards roll. He caught his footing just in time to deflect a knife strike, finally, _finally,_ grasping her wrist in one hand. She fought back, contorting herself to the point of twisting a foot over her head to hit his helmet. More blue fields appeared, eating into his shields, causing sections of the armor to warp into a deformed mockery of its former self.

Catching her other wrist was easier, now that he had one arm already restrained. Yao brought his head back in his strongest head-butt, smashing his reinforced carbon-plate mask into the light blue headgear covering her face.

When her eyes rolled back, he realized that it wasn't headgear she was wearing, but her _actual head_. A blue woman.

Turning, he noticed the rest of Vengeance squad was silent, grouped into a tight circle, guns outward.

Batarians surrounded the entire group, Yao included, in a ring over fifty feet across. Many had weapons drawn, although many were holding what looked like omni-tools, like what the Ruins had gifted the NCRA. One gestured for him to join the squad, then barked something at him when he began carrying the blue lady.

Yao turned his back on the batarian, hauling the unconscious woman on one shoulder. He ached in places he hadn't felt since his boot camp days, but would never show it in public.

"Nice display, lieutenant." Major Lin commented as he drew near. "Thank you for joining us."

Yao dropped the unconscious body at her feet. "My apologies, major. I assume there will be no prisoners from us?"

The woman gave him a single look. "After Zhao's little display, what do you think?"

He bowed respectfully. "That it has been my greatest privilege to serve with Vengeance squad."

She inclined her head slightly. "As was ours. A pity we were never able to have the victory party; you might have gotten lucky."

Yao picked up his Typhoon. "Doubtful. Even I am not that fortunate."

Hissing laughter broke over their network. _"Sssilly humansss, thisss isss no time for matesss … wait. I lie. Yesss it isss!"_

"Kiren? Are you there? Stay back, we're going to be down in a few minutes." Yao tensed. One of the batarians was making gestures at him, a clear motion to lower his weapon. Why they'd allowed him to pick up the Typhoon was beyond him, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Siegfried, please convey my apologies to the E.F. I underestimated my opponents, a mistake I will not have a chance to repeat."

The mocking laughter of a Raloi came clearly, not over radio waves. "Batarianssss, I bring giftsss!"

A barely visible blur smashed into a batarian, tossing his form to one side in an arcing fall. A second blur tackled it midair, sending it spinning into neighboring soldiers with inhuman force.

The first blur came to a stop, showing itself to be a raloi soldier, Fures, if Yao remembered correctly. It grinned a saw-toothed smile before vanishing once more. All around him, soldiers began falling, tears ripping into their armor from nothingness, falling in a lethal display of combined melee and invisibility. An echoing roar began to fill the air, probably the hover tank that had been in the rear.

Yao dropped to one knee, glad his shields had recharged. This would hurt. A lot. Glancing back, he shifted, concealing as many of his Amazons as physically possible. Their protests were expertly ignored, as he'd grown used to doing. It wasn't as if they'd have time to bully him about it later. The truism he'd learned from General Chu floated to the forefront of his mind: _A good leader put his own people first_ ; it was a truth he'd lived by, and he would die by it.

The Raloi were moving in a virtuoso display he knew couldn't be matched by humans. That was _pack behavior_ , a combat that could only be mastered by those that had it.

It was beautiful to watch, what he could see of it. Between jolts as lead slammed home against his armor, he watched the aliens execute beautiful moves, the pride of any Olympic team. One would distract a batarian with a slap or shot into the chest plate, only for a second raloi to make the finishing blow. They even used the trees, leaping into the lower branches to avoid fire, or redirect an attack.

Individually, he could see they were stronger than an average human, capable of withstanding a direct punch at maximum power. But as a pack, they were truly terrifying, slashing through the batarian ranks like a buzz saw. They were good, and with their cloaking capabilities, they were able to add a new dimension to the attack, vanishing and appearing in wraith-like attacks.

He smiled behind the safety of his helmet. Perhaps some of his squad would even escape this fight. Little did he know he would be proven correct in less than a second.

For what he hadn't expected was a contingent of Alliance armored vehicles blasting a hole out of the forest, laying waste to the batarian infantry with their turrets. Two Makos rolled to a stop in front of Yao's team, blocking incoming fire from their team. A side door sloped down, beckoning them to its safe darkness.

Yao lurched forwards, surprised when his feet refused to move. He crashed to the ground, narrowly missing the blue alien behind his feet. It took three Dragons to carry him to the Mako, one after two Alliance soldiers clambered out to help.

"Hey lieutenant. Sorry I was late." A weak voice greeted him as he was carried inside.

Yao grinned; Major Ki-Yun waved weakly at him from a jury-rigged sling in the back. "Well met! What are you doing here?"

The bedridden woman managed to look insulted. "General Williams asked for volunteers of course. You think I would stay behind?"

A new voice, male this time, broke in. "I don't have your communication protocols, Lieutenant Yao." General Williams peered back from the co-pilot seat. "That's an issue we should rectify in the near future. Can't go around rescuing civilians without hope of a backup, can we?"

Grunting, Yao felt consciousness slipping. "No, I would say not. Could I trouble you for a medic? I believe I have taken some damage."

One of the Dragons settled by him. "I'm here, lieutenant." A fierce look in her eye compelled him to keep awake. "And if you even _think_ of doing something so stupid as to try covering us with damaged armor – impressive as it was – we will have a few words to say about it." Around her, the rest of the Dragons made noises of agreement.

Yao swallowed. "Table that discussion please, I believe I am about too …." He fled into the welcoming darkness gladly. He knew he'd be back on his feet soon, but for now … now he'd be glad to rest. For he had a feeling that he would need all his strength in the next few days.

* * *

 **A/N:** Guest reviewer (Ch. 12) I am not sure if you a referring to the number of batarian or human soldiers, so I can't give you a proper response. The number of troops for both sides have already been given earlier in the story and both are sizeable enough for an operation this size. Also the batarians are only focusing on major cities and suburbs and blasting everything else from orbit, thus maximizing the use of their numbers.

Now for population, two billion people spread over a world is not large, in fact its quite small in terms of numbers. Just imagine the entire population of India and China spread across the world with no one else in it, a large part of the world would remain untouched.

I hope I have addressed some of your questions.

Also to all future guest reviewers, since me and my partners pride in responding to every reviewer it would be greatly appreciated if you can leave a penname or other means to get back to you in order to relay information about the story or answer some questions you may have.

Also we are down to the final two chapters of the Shanxi ground war and for all those of you who have been wishing to see the batarians exterminated; fear not for the next chapter…will be the SGB chapter. Prepare for glory my friends because the Russians are about to get involved and when they do, the gloves are coming off.

 **Trivia:**

1\. Title is a direct reference to Bruce Lee's movie, and a good one at that.

2\. This is the debut of the Raloi Shadows and we see how they truly live up to their name

3\. Hackett's POV, much like Talal's in chapter 11, was added at the last second to assist with breaking away from the combat. We do enjoy reading your feedback after all!

4\. The format of the message Hackett received was inspired many of those that have appeared in Halo books.

5\. This chapter was solely written by V-cringetorix, so let us all give him an applause!


	14. Chapter 14 - Enemy at the Gates

1-6-2157 0113 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Novaya**

 **Shanxi**

 **78** **th** **Order**

General Salim stomped his feet, leaving behind a trail of white snow. The thick armored boots came with their own heating systems, but the weather was just so damn _cold!_ If the site hadn't been so important, he would be directing this operation from orbit. He squinted at the distant settlement, faint silvery towers pointing skyward innocently. ' _Well, that and the thrice-putrefied sat system they have.'_

He whirled, sending the deep white snow flying as he stomped back to the command center. _That_ _,_ _fortunately_ , was better shielded against the bone-chilling temperatures.

' _I wouldn't be here of the pathetic slavers had succeeded before,'_ Salim thought, remembering the previous attempt made to carve a path across the continent's center. The slaver in charge of the operation, Major Kal'rin, had gone against orders and decided to attack an enemy strong-hold located deep within the forests, depriving the Hegemony forces of vital resources to fully secure the west coast. To make matters worse the major had not only failed to accomplish either task, but succeeded in having his entire force be wiped out by a nuclear weapon.

' _Why did we have to rely on such idiots?'_ Salim couldn't believe such a high ranking officer to be so stupid. Thankfully the Hegemony's forces had managed to capture all major cities located on the other side of the continent even with the lack of assistance from the slavers. Heading for his tent, he wondered if the slavers were more of a liability than an asset.

Once inside, he popped the seal, shedding the external plates like a second skin. His under-armor was the equivalent to most infantry, save the _Na'Hesit_ , but his outer armor gave him the strength to withstand a sniper round without shielding. Still, he was in a hurry, so he let the plates hit the floor carelessly for the slaves to pick up.

"Careful, idiots!" Salim aimed a kick at a jumpy turian, one who had been careless enough to trip over the fallen pieces. "That armor is worth more than _you._ Hang it up!" The turian have a curt nod before picking the armor up and getting out of the batarian general's way.

Scowling, Salim made his way to the central chamber, the one lined with enough electronics to jam an entire continent's worth of foes. ' _Not that it worked. Somehow, they were able to get messages through. How? Why?'_ _He just couldn't figure out how the natives were continuing to send out encrypted messages to each other and it infuriated him._

"Report," Salim ordered. A slave hurried to him, brining the general a steaming mug. He inhaled the fragrant fumes, nodding his acceptance. He ruled over his slaves with an iron fist, showing dominance over them whenever he could. He required supreme excellence from all his subordinates and would severally punish those that failed to meet his expectations. The lack of a response had Salim glaring across the projector. ' _Well, it looks like someone is bucking for lead assault duty.'_

"Report!" he bellowed, this time with rage in his voice.

The subordinate jerked, spilling his mug across the projector. The protective fields crackled, repelling the liquid from essential wires, creating a minor smoke-screen at the same time. The young batarian grabbed a device before nervously looking through the cloud at the general. Salim was steaming, both literally and figuratively, at his subordinate's incompetence.

"Uhh…Officer Jul reporting, sir," The young batarian squeaked. "We have over one-hundred thousand soldiers with supporting artillery, gunship, and tank units ready to spearhead the attack. Several other divisions have also begun moving through the area in an attempt to secure the outlying towns and districts, but have encountered some resistance from the local populace."

Salim's deep frown lines creased again. All four eyes focused on the unfortunate officer. "That is not nearly good enough. This operation requires more than double that number, triple even!"

"Sir, we already outnumber the largest possible army presence here by nearly twenty-five to one!" the officer protested. "In total, we have over a hundred thousand men. Surely that's more than enough?"

The general growled, decades of bureaucratic abuse coming to his aid. He tried quelling the desire to shout at the officer's short-sightedness, but was unable to. "Enough? Enough!?" He forced his voice back down, making his tone even and quiet. "You believe this is sufficient?" Salim covered his lower eye set with one hand, rolling the upper set upwards, begging his ancestors for patience. "The bare minimum for assaulting an entrenched position is a ten to one ratio, yet we lack reliable intelligence on the enemy forces or how far they are spread out. We've lost over three companies to just the weather alone, and in our entire time here we haven't encountered any resistance aside from pitiful militia and do you know why?"

Jul became frozen at the question, unsure to voice his opinion. Afraid of the consequences should he give a wrong answer, he merely shook his head and hoped the general wouldn't skin him alive.

"Because the enemy knows the territory well and was smart enough to let the weather weaken us while they suffered no losses. Our scouts may report there are only a thousand enemy troops in the area, but they also say the planetary cannons are defenseless and abandoned! No, it stands to reason the enemy knows we are coming and will use every advantage they have, because that is warfare! If you combine an extensive knowledge of the terrain with superior localized firepower, you will best a superior foe! Things that lived under _rocks_ when our ancestors began their glorious conquest a thousand years ago knew that!" The general shouted, making his subordinate shrink in his chair.

Regaining his calm, Salim switched his expression to one that all of his subordinates knew demanded complete obedience. "Now. You will go and retrieve another twenty thousand soldiers. File the appropriate claims, wait the requisite time, and then tell that half-blind Toren that if he doesn't give me my soldiers, he will get my boots in his teeth!"

Officer Jul shrank back. "But … sir … not to be out of place, but what about using the new slaves that we've captured? They should know the territory, and it's likely the aliens won't fire on their own kind. Much like Admiral Ban's conquest of the asari colonies."

General Salim's eyebrows rose. "Well, finally. Some wisdom at last, even if it is short-sighted." The eyebrows went down. "Tell me, why are we here on this planet?"

The officer squirmed. "To … to conquer. Sir."

"Good answer," Salim smiled. "Now, if we are so good at conquering, why is the Hegemony still the servant of weaklings like the salarians and asari?"

"Um, because we do not wish to gain so much that we lose control of what we have?" The officer said, clearly unsure of the proper response.

"And you were doing so well. No, little-thing-that-hides-under-rocks. That is not right." The officer winced at the general's verbal abuse. Salim kneaded the skin between his upper eyes, feeling a headache coming on.

"The answer is twofold: money, and bodies. We need money to finance the weapons, and we need bodies to carry them." He trained both lower eyes on Jul. "We have more than enough cash to buy an entire star system, deplete its resources, and give it away. No tell me, what are we missing?"

Jul raised his chin. "Bodies, sir?"

"Yes, exactly. Bodies." Salim began to smile. It wasn't a pleasant expression, a move better suited to things that lived in dark holes and consumed the young of others. "What we have discovered here is a labor pool potentially greater than the asari and turians combined. What we have discovered, is a potential slave army capable of marching straight into the teeth of enemy fire, and conquer everything in its path despite dying by the thousands." His voice began rise, like a story reaching its climax. "What we have discovered, Officer Jul, is a _priceless_ resource, one we must study with every resource of our own. Each alien we capture is worth more than a platoon of our own elite, each breeding pair is potentially more valuable than a fully armed and crewed cruiser, and _you_ want to turn this invaluable resource into _cannon fodder?"_

Jul leapt to his feet. "I'll get the forms sent through immediately, sir!"

General Salim snorted, tilting his head to the left. "See that you do. If I don't have those men in place within five hours, you will be leading them!" That last threat seemed enough to get the officer running at full speed. Salim smiled at the scene before beginning to plan his attack.

"Now then, let's see what options we have." Salim eyed a hologram of the area, depicting controlled and enemy territory. Of particular interest was a route cutting through several mountains straight towards his target. Placing an icon, representing a division of his own forces, Salim smiled. "This may just be my lucky day.

It was imperative he succeed here, doing so would create a safe passage route for their brothers in the west to regroup, further augmenting the strength of the Hegemony's forces in the area. It would also have the added benefit of eliminating yet another blasted defense site and give him fire support from above. Once the objective had been accomplished Salim would march his forces towards the last few strongholds held by the enemy on this continent.

* * *

 **Gozevech District**

 **Shanxi**

 **SGB 90** **th** **Regiment, 68** **th** **Armored Battalion**

Colonel Sasha Drago, commander of the 32nd tactical battalion, had been the first SGB commander to have died in the siege of Shanxi, defending Volosk. The large city had housed thousands of civilians, many of whom were still trapped within it. Others had died before him. The Alliance defense detachment had suffered losses in orbit over the planet to the invading fleet in the initial naval battle, and many more still fell as the aliens pushed further into the colony, swallowing entire countries at a time. Untold numbers of brave men and women had paid the ultimate price in service of humanity.

As the far as the 68th armored battalion was concerned however, Colonel Drago had been the first Russian commander to have died in the assault. Drago wasn't always well liked, but he had been well respected amongst his men and peers. He had passed up multiple promotions in order to avoid being moved from his post. "I'm a soldier for life. I've lived as one and I'll die as one," he had often said. To the men and women of the Spetsnaz Guard Brigade, Colonel Drago died a true hero defending Russian citizens from the alien aggressors. His men were wiped out in the heroic defense, serving the Mother Land until their last breath. Sadly countless civilians were still slaughtered, raped, or worse. But it was Drago's death that had pained the SGB the most.

When news had reached the 68th that the aliens were bringing the war to the Gian continent, a bitter hatred had spread through the battalion like a virus, hate for the unprovoked attack, for the loss of their comrades, and above all else, for the inhumane slaughter of their own people. If there was one quality for which the Russians were renowned for, it was their primal resilience, withstanding anything to achieve the final blow.

Reports from other fronts just made the SGB even more determined. These _batarians_ had steamrolled over an unknown number of human cities and countries, quelling any resistance with unchecked aggression. But the batarians had made the fatal mistake of underestimating the will of the 68th, believing them to be weak. The batarians would soon learn, however, that the claws of the Motherland's Bear were far from dull.

When the batarians had landed en masse on the continent, Colonel Morgunov had volunteered to personally lead the 68th armored, along with the rest of his regiment, straight to where batarian presence was thickest. The 68th armored were amongst the most brutal SGB battalion in the Russian army. Only the legendary Alpha Brigade surpassed the 68th's rumored war crimes. The feared battalion took no prisoners, making sure all enemy combatants were eliminated regardless if they surrendered or not. As the batarians neared ever closer to the battalion, the 68th armored was prepared to show them the true meaning of fear.

All of Morgunov's men were station in the area, a 62 kilometer stretch of frozen tundra and trenches. Aside from being the fastest route to access the Russian district, it was also one of the few areas in the entire northern-eastern sea board with functional anti-ship batteries. It was deemed a highly strategic location and General Williams had allowed the SGB to defend their territory, knowing they would not let it fall. Without performing a single action, the entire region stood as a silent symbol of defiance in the face of the batarians invasion, inspiring fierce resistance across countless towns and settlements nearby.

It had been confirmed through reports that the batarians had been less cautious when met with modest resistance, but were shocked when human forces fought to the last man. This meant only one thing: the enemy was unaccustomed to fighting a war of attrition, even if they were capable of committing unspeakable atrocities.

Six dozen T-100 Ogre tanks laid in wait, arrayed across the frozen plains leading to the densely populated Russian district. Each vehicle was covered with a sheet of camo netting, making their blocky outlines fade into the background. Several of the Ogres' track guards were covered in scrawled messages from Spetsnaz throughout the battalion, both commemorating Drago and promising revenge. Each of the 75 ton monsters sported massive 152mm cannons with twin 12.7mm anti-aircraft turrets. The death machines added to their formidable defenses with explosive/reactive and Kontakt armor, layered with ARENA active defense, Shtora jammer, and kinetic barriers to top it all off. The current inactive state of the tanks used as little as energy as possible without shutting down completely. As far as high-orbit batarian vessels were concerned, there was nothing to be seen on the plain, but a few hills and a thick layer of snow. The insulating snow too served to mask the tanks' already reduced heat signatures, rendering them as close to invisible as possible. If the ships came into a lower orbit, the ruse would be revealed, but the district's ground based anti-ship batteries had forced them back to an extent.

Still, the batarians had found a way to dispatch landing craft, evading the batteries' line of fire and offloading their troops and vehicles scant miles away. Much like previous invaders who dared to invade Russian soil, the batarians were unprepared for the frozen wasteland. The winter's cold blasted the enemy as if they had incurred a personal insult, the freezing temperatures greatly hampering their advance into the district. After two days of traversing the inhospitable terrain, the advancing batarians had set off the proximity sensors the SGB had placed along all possible routes towards the district. Based on the data gathered, an entire batarian division was heading directly to the awaiting and bloodthirsty jaws of the 68th. The SGB battalion wasn't worried; in fact every soldier in it was greatly eager, for both war and blood.

Captain Sergei Izotov gazed through the high-amplification lenses of his helmet, lying prone alongside the Ogre tanks. The blizzard screamed just over his head, like voices in his ears, almost as if recognizing the captain as a brother. Izotov was 36 years old and the oldest member in his squad. He was a ruthless and calculating individual. Uncaring about casualties, often describing wounded units as useless, he only cared about success. His callous attitude was balanced by an equal lack of concern for either the welfare or the lives of enemy soldiers. Despite his ruthless attitude, Izotov was a highly decorated veteran of the Spetsnaz brigade, having received numerous medals over his career as a soldier.

He slid under the camo netting and climbed back into the man-made trench, rejoining his many furious and eager Spetsnaz soldiers. The fortifications that coated the battalion's infantry acted as a wind-breaker, while not providing warmth, it at least provided respite from the wind-chill factor, not that any of them needed it. Izotov slid into place, next to the four soldiers under his command, doing their own individual activities. While he may have constantly ridden his squad hard to achieve near-impossible tasks, they'd always delivered.

His lieutenant, Alexi Tatarev was tapping his foot against the snow with such force that Izotov half-expected the snowy wall to collapse on him. Staff Sergeant Yuri Tankayev, the squad's Bear had his omni-tool activated, watching some sort of inspirational speech by an ancient general. The squad's only Kazakhstani, Sergeant Milea Chenko was the most anxious. She was the team's sniper as well as only female. The standards for men and women were the same, but somehow Chenko had managed to keep her glorious curves in the process. Despite her attractive appearance, Tatarev treated her with polite indifference, opting to clean his PKP-210 light machine gun. Tankayev ignored his squad entirely, keeping his Mini Kornet-K RPG trained in the direction the batarians were expected to come through while listening to the speech over his headset.

"Hey, sergeant," Izotov reached out, placing a hand on Chenko's shoulder. "You alright?"

Chenko's face reddened from the physical contact, creating a stark contrast to the white snow. "Yes, sir," Chenko murmured, her eyes and smile showing an unusual amount of feelings for her superior. Izotov was unaccustomed to considering any emotion, especially with being gentle towards people, but he tried to give her a reassuring smile.

"Relax this is your place, sergeant. Don't doubt it," Izotov reassured her.

Chenko cracked a smile. It was still tainted by nervousness, but it was an improvement. Izotov glanced at his omni-tool as it began beeping and flashing a green light. He tapped it once, opening the short-range comm.

"Izotov, here."

" _Sensors indicate the enemy is three minutes from our position. Everyone get ready,"_ The radio crackled. Izotov stiffened. The voice belonged to Colonel Vasily Morgunov, the acting commander of the battalion. Izotov felt surprise at someone of the colonel's standing personally issuing a general transmission to all COs in the battalion. His surprise vanished as the blood in his veins turned to fire at the thought of the coming battle. From his viewpoint, he could see the other soldiers bundling together, likely responding to the same message he'd received.

"Comrades, get ready," Izotov said to his men, noting that many platoon leaders had already relayed the same message. The sounds of safeties being disengaged, and bulky Spetsnaz soldiers getting into position vibrated throughout the cold, white trenches.

The 68th armored numbered at 1,500 soldiers, but additional volunteers from the local villages and towns bolstered their numbers, though they wouldn't be fighting alongside the Spetsnaz for their purpose would be revealed later in the fight. One hundred and twenty SGB Bears were dedicated to maintaining the battalion's seventy-two Ogre tanks. Another ninety were divided into six fifteen-man platoons, accompanied by eighty-five BTR-112 Cockroaches, the primary IFV transport for the SGB. The BTR-112 Cockroaches were positioned behind the Ogres, their twin 57mm auto cannons, 27mm AA guns, and ATGM system providing excellent cover from enemy gunships. These rectangular vehicles struck a perfect balance between transport and AA platform. Despite their boxy appearance, they were swift and maneuverable; their firing ports allowed infantry to fire from within the vehicle, helping the Cockroaches serve as mobile bunkers at times.

Each Spetsnaz was armed with the standard SGB gear. For Wolves they were equipped with the Kon infantry ceramic body armor with titanium plating and integrated kinetic barriers. The armor, worn on the inside of the uniform, gave them their trademark bulky appearance. For headgear they wore titanium alloy helmets with its multiple forms of integrated vision modes. A balaclava, colored white for the occasion, covered their faces. Their layout included the AK-221 assault rifle, MP-32 Iron pistol, and OSV-120 sniper rifle. Several Spetsnaz Wolves however, traded their sniper rifles to their marksmen in exchange for receiving the PKP-210 Light Machine Gun from the stockpile of weapons they had available. Long range superiority could be negated by close-range brutality.

The Bears wore the same type of armor, though a bit thicker, and instead of a balaclava chose gas masks with identically integrated visions. The major difference was in how their mask's eye sockets were colored red, preventing flash blindness while at the same time giving them a menacing look. A good portion of Bears were already readying the multiple AGS-30mm grenade launchers, proving they were ready for a good fight. For weapons they carried the AK-221 or PKP-210, a PP300 sub-machine gun, their standard Mini Kornets, and the fearsome flamethrowers, which was highly ironic given the tundra-like terrain. Each Ogre, Spetsnaz, and Cockroach platoon reported in without any issues.

Colonel Morgunov's voice echoed over the entire contingent's communication systems. " _Fight well, soldiers. Give these alien bastards a Spetsnaz welcome."_

Izotov and his men joined in the chorus of acknowledgements and then all fell silent. Hundreds of fingers hovered over weapons. In the distance, the batarian division was moving steadily forward, expanding into a loose column, oblivious to the SGB battle line. They were already well within weapons range of the Ogres' main guns, but Morgunov apparently had another trick up his sleeve. For it to have full effect, it would need a few more seconds…

* * *

 **Gozevech District**

 **Shanxi**

 **78** **th** **Order, 6** **th** **Armored**

Sergeant Bo'ro Lereck marched alongside his hover-tank, eyes sharp and looking around for any signs of trouble. Cursed with the twin gifts of a snow storm and a location in the center of the column, Lereck was having a hard time seeing past the mechanical and natural obstacles clouding his vision.

The snow gave everything a hidden depth, the leafless foliage unable to cover anything, yet coating the entire countryside with a thick blanket. While the trees and bushes were bare, the ground itself couldn't be trusted; hidden dips and hills made the walking twice as difficult while giving a patient enemy whole new opportunities to hide. Like most batarians, Lereck grumbled about the nightmarish weather. The freezing temperatures were unforgiving as they were brutal. It had claimed a good number of men through a variety of ways: starvation, hypothermia, even causing some to become lost whenever the division would advance. Other divisions in the area had reported the same problems through the constant failing of communications. It seemed no matter how advanced the batarians were, the unnatural cold continued to be a constant enemy. The armored vehicles made it even worse, kicking up snow with their turbines as they raced through the terrain.

No matter how severe the weather was, Lereck was more concern with who they would be facing. Having fought the humans in the first couple of days, Lereck found that depending on the type of human force the Hegemony faced, their strategies would differ. The humans clad in blue armor were especially skilled in urban warfare while the ones in yellow were experts of stealth, emerging from the shadows to kill any batarians in their path before disappearing into thin air. There were even rumors within the order of other type of forces, one dressed in red suits, another colored green, but thickly armored and even one that was composed of an entirely different species! That would explain the different types of vessels the Hegemony fleet encountered in orbit; but the majority of humans seemed to wear white armor, its properties similar to what the batarian army fielded. Given the circumstances, it was no wonder why Lereck felt nervous.

"Hey, sergeant you alright?"

Lereck turned his head to see a familiar face in the massive crowd, Corporal Yermon. Both a long-time friend and subordinate, Yermon had fought with Lereck through many fierce battles and each had constantly protected each other's backs.

"Yes, just wondering what type of enemy we'll be facing."

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll be easy to defeat just like the rest," Yermon said, bumping his shoulder against Lereck's elbow in a friendly fashion.

Lereck wished he had the corporal's confidence, but something didn't feel right to him. They had yet to encounter any major resistance since they landed and were extremely close to their objective. The division had moved out with whatever they could find, under heavy air and armor cover, not wasting the chance to use the firepower they had available. Even if they didn't expect a major enemy presence, Lereck believed the extra precaution was necessary.

Gunships hummed overhead as the bulk of tanks and APCs rumbled through the terrain amidst soldiers in close formation. Most of the batarians on foot had become weary of the advance, their tired legs somewhat delighted that they were close to their destination. A company of batarian engineers had been assigned to capture any control centers, dubbed 'uplinks' by the humans, if any were found. Further intelligence on the humans and their relationship to the reptilian-like race called the raloi would greatly help the Hegemony in conquering this planet faster.

Most of the troops were starting to think that the humans were one-shot wonders, making raids, setting up ambushes, and placing traps before running and hiding. A good portion of defenders had deviated from this path, mostly the red and green armor-colored humans. However, aside from local militia, the units had yet to run into anything thus far. No enemy soldiers, no traps, not even a single sniper round being fired. That made Lereck nervousness as well as a few other NCOs. The talent the humans had shown in waging warfare contradicted with the lack of any fortifications or troops near the cannons. Based upon past encounters, humans were not ones to abandon their own easily even if they were weak. Thus it bothered him that there hasn't been any military response from the humans, especially when other divisions had razed settlements and taken slaves in the area.

' _Just what are the humans planning?'_

" _We got something ahead. First company, check it out."_ Came the shouted order of Major Yorrow through Lereck's radio. The majority of the division slowed down its pace as the first company, made-up of mostly slaves and conscripts, trotted up-ahead. From his point of view, Lereck couldn't see what the major had found so suspicious. Still Lereck narrowed his eyes, greatly concerned and on guard. The rest may have called him paranoid, but the sergeant was still alive, while many of whom that had made fun of him weren't.

"I got a bad feeling about this…" He muttered.

"Calm down. I'm sure it's nothing." Yermon said dismissively.

Despite his corporal's refusal to treat this situation seriously, every fiber in Lereck's being told him that something was going to happen…something bad…something very bad. His head tried darting in every direction, failing to see what was up ahead. He cursed the blizzard, hampering his range of visibility. He wished he had heat-detecting helmets, but something told him Lieutenant Commander Toren had some say in the distribution of equipment in the finest tradition. If the slavers hadn't botched their attack on one of the enemy's strongholds in the center jungles over a week ago, the Hegemony could have set up better supply lines across the northern regions. Regardless, Lereck become tense, his instincts screaming to prepare. But for what?

' _The humans are going to do something now.'_ The sergeant held his Vindicator assault rifle tightly. His combat partner glanced at him curiously and patted him on the shoulder cauldron

"Didn't I tell you to calm down. At this rate you'll die of a heart-attack than from the freezing winter." Yermon teased.

"Just stay sharp and have your rifle ready." Lereck warned.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." Yermon responded with a wave of his hand, dismissing the sergeant's warning.

The unit kept its sluggish pace, a sharp contrast to the speedy advance just a half an hour earlier. Lereck kept casting glances up-ahead towards the column, his eyes twitching nervously. Despite his anxiety, he maintained discipline and formation, weapon sweeping around in regular intervals. He tried to get a visual of the first company, but found it was practically impossible in the blasted weather. Contrary to the lack of evidence, Lereck knew the humans were somewhere, watching and waiting.

" _This is Major Yorrow, First company has nearly reached the suspicious structure. All units be prepared in case of enemy ambush."_

Little did anyone know that Lereck's suspicions were about to be proven correct.

* * *

 **Gozevech District**

 **Shanxi**

 **SGB 90** **th** **Regiment, 68** **th** **Armored Battalion**

No one was entirely sure of what they would face when they clashed on the ground. The batarians had been victorious in space, but the Spetsnaz knew from their own history that even civilians or slaves could pose potential threats if not guarded against. Thus, Izotov could tell the batarians had experienced exactly that sort of thing in their past based on their formation. He could see their troops moved in integrated groups, largely composed of infantry, but with vehicles and air support nearby to ensure that they could respond to multiple threats flexibly no matter what form they took.

The group approaching Izotov and his squad numbered at 25,000 men, boasting large number of troopers on foot, hundreds of hover-tanks and tank destroyers, and outnumbering the Spetsnaz battalion by nearly 25 to 1. He knew though, that other battalions faced similar or worse odds. Izotov watched as the enemy ordered a company of soldiers forward while the main force slowed down its advance. He wondered if they had spotted the trenches or something else entirely. Izotov looked over his lines, checking each body he could see for signs of cowardice. He smirked when his search came up empty. The Spetsnaz showed no fear for they had none. They had been trained with such viciousness that they had a few nasty surprises at their disposal, many of which the batarians had probably never seen before. Their Motherland Guard satellites had been one such trick, damaging several dozen ships of the batarian fleet before they had been destroyed. The end result of the SGB satellites had turned many enemy ships into orbital debris. Even now, he knew it was solely because of the nigh-invisible batteries that kept the alien ships from bombarding the continent to oblivion. That is not to say the enemy fleet couldn't bombard the Russians from their current position, but it would be extremely inaccurate and risked hitting their own troops.

"Wait for it," Izotov muttered to his squad, lightly feathering his rifle's trigger. Activating a small IR laser sight attached to his weapon, he saw the horizon light up with figures.

As they advanced, Izotov mentally calculated positions, hoping the unfortunate batarians were unaware of the seven dozen Locust anti-tank mines buried underneath the snow. To make matters worse for the invaders, he knew fifty Zhukov mobile artilleries were lying in wait, a kilometer west of the Spetsnaz line. Once they received the order, each would fire their dual 152mm cannons, loaded with chemical and high explosive shells to decimate the batarian infantry.

Some distance away, Colonel Morgunov counted under his breath, forcing himself to be patient. Reaching zero, he pressed the thumb on the detonator, triggering the Locust mines. Eighty-four anti-tank mines detonated in perfect unison, spread out amongst the batarian force. Sixty transports were effectively torn in half by the heavy explosives, while fifty-nine hover-tanks were destroyed by an engine overload. Not even the batarian's heaviest tank survived the fierce explosives, thirty-four becoming metal coffins for their crews.

Before the batarians could even register what had occurred, one hundred 152mm high explosive and chemical shells rained down on their positions leaving faint vapor trails in the heat of their passage. The explosives shells incinerated dozens of infantry while the chemical shells dispersed highly toxic mustard gas, suffocating and sending ranks into terrified screams. Those hit by the toxic substance began to convulse as they were apparently ill-equipped for chemical weapons. The Zhukov artilleries fired a constant stream of fire, the sheer power of their arsenal outclassing even Ogre tanks, sending great geysers of snow, dirt, metal, and even snow-blasted limbs into the air as several craters were punched into the planet's surface. Even the batarian tanks were helpless before the devastating firepower, tossed into the air like toys when the high-explosive rounds impacted in close proximity. Infantry caught in the immediate blast simply ceased to exist as their bodies disintegrated. The Zhukov artillery vehicle wasn't just meant to kill the enemy, it was meant to erase them completely. The batarians were learning that the hard way.

The explosions drove the nigh-rabid SGB soldiers into a blood rage. "Kill them all!" Morgunov shouted, slamming on his portion of the Ogre's ignition sequence. His three other crewmen did the same, filling the interior of the war machine with the roar of the engines and the clatter of weapons priming. The massive vehicles on either side rumbled into action, their crews making similar preparations. Slowly, but with increasing speed, the entire line of armor came to life, swiveling to face the oncoming invaders.

The Cockroaches were the first to activate fully, roughly four seconds after Morgunov's order. They rose from their stooped positions leveling their auto-cannons and immediately fired, their crewmen already having picked out targets among the surprised batarians. The anti-tank mines had wreaked havoc among the batarian vehicles, but hundreds more had survived the explosions. While maneuverable, the enemy's vehicles lacked sufficient anti-infantry capabilities. The Cockroaches had no such limitations; their weapons were designed to dispatch infantry and enemy gunships. The entire SGB battle line joined in as they all opened fire as one. The entire Spetsnaz line looked as if sheets of flame rippled along its edges.

A sheet of armor-piercing munitions slammed into the batarians lines, shredding the troopers unfortunate enough to be caught in the open. The Cockroaches' auto-cannons, originally designed to penetrate lightning-fast fighters, sliced through personal shields effortlessly. Smaller trees were blasted into splinters under the barrage. The batarian troopers threw themselves to the ground or behind their own vehicles, desperate to evade the barrage of death.

A few of the batarian recon vehicles came under fire from multiple Cockroaches. Their kinetic barriers were noticeably stronger than those equipped by the infantry, but the barrage of auto-cannon and artillery shells were more than they could stand. After a few seconds, accompanied with the sound of shattering glass and exploding fuel cells, the barriers fell, exposing the vehicles to the incoming fire. The hardened armor was pounded, beating large dents into their sides and killing the occupants by transferred energy alone. Some managed to survive, but the second half of the barrage pierced though the armor, shredding the occupants.

After the initial barrage, the batarians had begun returning fire, but many were well off target. The 68th's camouflage was still largely intact and the batarians forces were largely disoriented. But it was also at this point that the Ogres were finished coming online and added their own firepower to the attack, ten seconds after the initial order.

The menacing sight of the Ogre tanks were burned into the batarians' memory as the menacing tanks readied their cannons. These monstrous tanks were designed for two things: overwhelming firepower, and intimidation. Many victims that had survived an encounter with the metal beasts had reported a disturbing sensation, akin to realizing a hidden predator was pouncing. Colonel Morgunov's tank had the honor of the first barrage among the heavy tanks. Its enormous cannon fired, easily penetrating the weakened shields of a tank destroyer and sending it up in flames.

Further to one side, Izotov couldn't help but chuckle at how easily the batarians armor fell before the Spetsnaz ordnance. Hover turbines apparently made them significantly more maneuverable, but they couldn't support nearly as much armor and firepower as treads could.

The remaining Ogres joined fire, abandoning their camo sheets to free their turrets and main cannons. The thunder of their main cannons was joined by the thumping of turrets opening fire and beginning their death song. The first row of batarians vehicles had been reduced to a flaming barrier of scrap, ironically providing some degree of protection to the infantry and vehicles that followed. The barrier proved problematic for the Cockroaches and Spetsnaz infantry, but the Ogres' heavier guns pierced the unshielded debris effortlessly, tearing into what hid behind them. The Zhukov artillery pieces had the same result, still punishing the increasingly disorganized batarians from afar; methodically hitting the middle and rear of the batarian force.

The Russian infantry wasn't idle either. Wave after wave of small arms and heavy machine gun fire met the batarians, a horizontal rain of bullets degrading shields and damaging armor. Grenades detonated by the dozens within the batarian formation, many soldiers becoming eviscerated by the shrapnel. Those that were fortunate enough to have shields or kinetic barriers were just lucky to not be killed within seconds. The Hegemony vehicles fared no better, coming under attack from multiple Kornet missiles and rendering many impotent piles of scrap.

Izotov allowed himself a cold laugh as he killed another batarian with his AK-221. The enemy hadn't known what hit them. Batarians lay dead on the white snow, their blood staining the blanket of snow, giving it a yellow sheen. Whatever biotics the batarians had were useless from such a distance, especially against the heavy armor and barriers of the SGB. The only somewhat workable tactic that was weakening the SGB line was the numerous overload attacks and concussion shots. It had some effect, but the majority of the Spetsnaz infantry was already waist deep in cover. The batarian's gunships were rapidly becoming useless as the Cockroaches repelled any within range, taking vicious vengeance for their fallen comrades. Even the enemy's heavy infantry seemed to have little effect, their missiles bouncing off Ogre tanks' armor like pitiful firecrackers.

But the volume of fire from the Hegemony increased as did their accuracy. A few Wolves and Bears were picked off from sniper fire. Izotov noted that the enemy's front lines seemed to consist of the lowest ranking troops as more and more batarians that joined the fight had thicker armor and shields. The SGB seemed to hold the upper hand, their superior firepower cutting a heavy swathe through the enemy ranks. However, slowly gaining momentum, the main batarian force was slowly moving towards the trenches at an increasing speed. Their artillery soon began firing upon the Spetsnaz.

"Comrades, get down!" Izotov warned before piles of snow were hoisted into the air. Several Bears and Wolves were caught in the explosion, their heavy armor unable to keep the shrapnel from their flesh.

"Now things are getting interesting," Tankayev said, firing his Mini-Kornet at another hover-tank; his target heeled over, burning from a deep gash in one side. "HAH, got another! Tatarev, do you think we'll get up close and personal?"

"If they do, I'll make sure you're in front of me," his friend replied, firing his PKP in short controlled bursts. A couple of Wolves beside him fell riddled with bullets. Others appeared to be catching on fire due to incendiary rounds used by the enemy, causing the big Russian to laugh. Incendiary rounds were useless in the snowy terrain. The batarians also seemed to be using rounds that would literally freeze a person as a couple of fingers and hands showed, but again the cold was an old friend of the Spetsnaz, and they were in their element.

"I'd much rather keep them at a distance!" Chenko shouted over the raging chaos, rapidly depleting magazines to feed her sniper rifle. The two, larger Spetsnaz merely laughed as they continued their rampage.

As batarian artillery continued to pound the SGB position, their forces advanced within 500 meters of the Ogre tanks. Being a true Spetsnaz commander, Morgunov would be dammed if he let any of those bastards make it past them without suffering heavy casualties. "Make them pay for every inch of soil, comrades!"He yelled. He himself moved faster than he'd ever remembered, helping the cannon fire round after round, reloading faster than the record back at camp. He knew the value of continuous fire, and every move he made helped, pouring guaranteed pain at the advancing batarians.

Yet the batarians somehow managed to push forward, despite the heavy ordnance raining down on them. They knew they heavily outnumbered the human defenders, an advantage they were beginning to use to great effect. Using their turbines, the hover-tanks pushed forward at top speed, followed closely by numerous infantry.

"Here they come!" Izotov told his men, who kept on fighting fiercely. They responded with blood chilling howls, excitement flowing through their veins. Some even began to climb onto the barricades, eager to close in with the hated enemy. Then he saw something in the sky, several squadrons of enemy aircraft appearing. "Everyone get down. Enemy air support is inbound!"

The Wolves shuddered, while the Bears gave a sinister laugh. In every war since the invention of armored units, enemy air support had been and still was the bane of all armored units. Air support often carried enough ordnance to take out entire vehicle columns and was often too nimble to be struck by tank fire. But humans had engaged in such warfare for centuries and as the aircraft neared the SGB line, the Cockroaches released their AA guns and missiles in a grandiose volley. The combined fire took out about an even dozen of enemy aircraft before they detected the launch. However, when the bombers dropped their ordnance, seven Cockroaches and three Ogres were destroyed. Several nearby squads of Wolves and Bears died defending their positions, contributing another two gunship kills from small-arms fire and rockets.

Morgunov was worried that the bombers would have targeted his artillery rather than the Spetsnaz line, but he was strangely delighted to see the enemy bombers drop their entire ordnance on the battle line. His artilleries were safe for the time being.

As the enemy gunships got within range, they fired a strafing burst along the trench line. The murderous fire killed infantry, slicing through their lines and penetrating multiple transports, but the Ogre tanks suffered almost no damage. The gunships quickly fired a salvo of missiles, intent on correcting their mistake. Like giants refusing to die, the Ogres withstood the attack as the missiles managed to only kill even more infantry. Furious, every single Bear with an RPG opened up with their Mini-Kornets, downing two entire squadrons of enemy gunships before the pilots understood the threat and fell back.

But as the focus was turned on the gunships, the batarian armor approached within 300 meters of the trench line, closing fast under cover of the distraction. The SGB were fighting hard, but they simply couldn't match the batarian numbers. It seemed they were about to clash when suddenly a comet appeared to rain down from the sky and impacted the planet 20 kilometers north of their position, a huge smoke cloud appeared on the horizon. Before the Spetsnaz could even register what had happened, another cloud appeared 17 kilometers south of them.

"My god they're bombarding us from orbit!" A Wolf cried out.

"This is Colonel Morgunov, to any battalion commanders, respond!" He yelled into his comm. set. It took some time before he received any response.

Coughing was heard on the other line before the individual spoke up. " _Major Kowalski here…the damn bastards nuked us! We're holding, but we are in danger of being overrun!"_

" _Captain Petrov of the 93_ _rd_ _Mechanized here, we have over 43% casualties, and we need bombers on our position!"_

"Roger that. I'm sending squadrons of UCAAV drones to each of your positions. ETA on the Halals is four minutes,"Morgunov said.

" _So long as the four eyes die, I don't care how long it takes!"_ Kowalski said before hanging up.

" _We can hold out until then. But sir, as of now I am the highest ranking officer left standing!"_ Petrov exclaimed.

"It matters not, comrade. It's up to you to lead the 93rd Mechanized. Do me proud captain,"Morgunov replied.

" _I will, sir."_

As Morgunov saw thousands of tons of ash and dirt expelled into the atmosphere, he knew it was time to deploy their last trump card. The anti-ship batteries weren't the only reason why the Spetsnaz were holding this territory. Being the leading officer, Morgunov had been in control of the SGB's ace in the hole. In the case of near defeat or orbital bombardment, it was voted unanimously by all regiment officers before the battle began to unleash their most devastating weapon should the worst occur.

Morgunov made the decision, tapping the necessary commands on his omni-tool. This action caused multiple silos within the heart of the district to open, revealing twelve 100 ton nuclear missiles. Each stood 11 meters tall with a diameter of 3.1 meters, but the true terror behind these beasts was their 85 megaton yield. Before the batarians had even invaded the continent, the SGB had pre-program the nukes to target the batarian fleet in geosynchronous orbit above them. These nukes had originally been secretly smuggled into the colony as a possible deterrent in case any power decided to invade them. Centuries of foreign invaders had made the Russians both paranoid and battle hardened. As such they never took any chances when setting up their defenses. Unfortunately for the batarians in space, who had until these point considered themselves safe, these behemoths were unstoppable. While GARDIAN batteries could predict the end-point goals of each missile, all the missiles had to do to be effective was get within a few kilometers of its target. These were arguably the most powerful weapons known to man. In true tradition, the Russians had named it the Tsar bomb, giving it a name to match its sovereign position. Many nations had voiced anger and concern during the development of such a weapon, but the Spetsnaz had simply ignored them and today they seemed justified in its use. To add further insult to injury, proudly scribbled on the center of each missile was one simple yet glorious phrase. It read: 'From Russia, with love.'The ground soon rumbled violently as the behemoth bombs soared to their targets.

Colonel Morgunov silently gave the growing smoke columns a salute. The batarians were no more than a hundred meters from the SGB line, but if he was going to die, he'd cover his own grave with the bodies of his foe's army.

* * *

 _ **HSS Superiority**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

"Sir, we have enemy ordnance coming in at top speed!" Ib-ba yelled, his tone indicating a slight panic. His scanners were showing twelve unusually large projectiles rapidly approaching the fleet.

"How fast?" Ban asked. As if to answer his question, twelve large missiles each slammed into the front guard of the fleet a second later. Massive fireballs engulfed the forward formations, sending shockwaves of incredible magnitude across the emptiness of space. Ban struggled just to remain in his command chair; the ship's shaking from the massive force doing its best to throw him onto the floor. "What the hell just happened!? Where did those nukes come from!?" He demanded. "I thought we'd cleared the planet of orbital weapons!"

There was a flurry of screens blinking in the front before he received an answer. "Based on the data I've managed to receive prior the detonation, it would seem that the nukes weren't delivered from orbital emplacements, but rather from the planet," Ib-ba informed him. Around him, the ship's crew began returning to their positions, recovering their senses from the nasty surprise.

"What part of the planet?" the admiral demanded in a death whisper.

"According to my scanners, the nukes came from the northern part of the human-controlled continent. Our forces in the area are taking heavy casualties and have failed to capture the cannons located there. General Salim was put in charge of that task; however he had previously made requisitions to Lieutenant Commander Toren for more troops."

Satisfied with the answer, Ban turned his attention to his fleet's condition. "Casualty reports," he stated, slightly infuriated with the predicted answer.

Hesitating, Ib-ba thought of the best way to inform the admiral before a death glare from the man persuaded him to just state the facts. "Twelve frigates, seven cruisers, and eleven battle cruisers have been destroyed. Another twenty ships have damages of varying degrees."

Ban was beyond furious. Not only did he lose thirty ships in the blink of an eye, but General Salim's forces have failed to capture one of the planet's sole remaining cannons. However, Ban wasn't a tad furious with the general rather he was suspicious and even that feeling was directed towards Toren. "Ib-ba, what forces did Toren send to Salim?"

Once again, Ib-ba remained silent, making Ban believe the answer would push him over the edge, driving him to outright murder Toren. The lieutenant commander's actions up to this point have been border-line treason, the least of which were sabotaging many of Ban's efforts to secure the planet. He suspected the Na'shiet were also involved in Toren's schemes if their actions were anything to judge. "Ib-ba, I will not repeat myself." Even though they were like brothers, Ib-ba knew Ban had a limited amount of patience,

Sighing, Ib-ba gave into the inevitable. "Mostly slaves and conscripts. Toren also ordered a ship in orbit over the area to give fire support at danger-close range, nearly hitting Salim's forces. The enemy has suffered severe casualties…but our forces haven't advanced very far at all."

"Were any of those slaves, _humans_?" Ban asked in a deathly whisper, causing every crewmember to flinch at his wrath. His long history in the fleet had taught them to fear when he grew angry, but to look for refuge when his anger quieted like this.

"Yes, however General Salim had a standing order against their use in the operation." Ib-ba said quickly to calm down the raging admiral. He knew his friend's temper well.

Ban soaked in the information. _'So, Salim was smart enough to see through Toren's trap, eh? I must certainly have to give the general some respect. As for Toren, he has cost me enough of my men and progress as it is._ _He will not leave this sector, alive._ _'_

Ban gave Ib-ba a slow smile. Around the officer, whatever was on the screens appeared to spontaneously generate great interest, given by the newly intense postures. "Ib-ba, inform all of our officers we're at Situation Yellow," The crew relaxed, the danger wasn't trouble for _them._ Situation Yellow was a … special … condition Ban had personally come up with, signifying the total liquidation of non-Hegemony forces. Knowing how slavers put their greed above anything else, Ban had informed every soul he trusted, which were a select few, of the contingency plan.

The essential plan elements placed the mistrusted, traitorous slavers with their allies. Certain orders would be given, sending those so despised into battle with superior positioning … and no actual support. Re-enforcements would arrive a hair too late, air support would discharge their payloads early or not at all, and transports would somehow miss extracting those not on their manifests. If the situation required it, Ban would order his own men to do the job, but he had faith in the enemy. It was ironic that the humans he was facing would be the same one to relieve him of the traitors within his ranks. They would help him keep his hands clean.

"Aye sir, condition yellow set." Ib-ba nodded to a trusted member of the bridge crew, who in turn began sending out a list of names. "What about General Salim and his forces?"

"Have General Salim salvage whatever remains of his forces and order them to fall back. The area is a lost cause now and we're more concern with capturing slaves than attacking the colony. Issue an encrypted message to all naval officers loyal to the Hegemony, and inform them of the situation." Ban stared at the projector suspiciously. "We have been here for too long. Order our ships planet-side to begin preparations for departure, and instruct those carrying slaves to rendezvous with our battle cruisers, I'm not risking the merchandise being killed in case Toren gets trigger happy. Speaking of that pathetic excuse for naval officer, have Toren's remaining frigates and cruisers begin offloading their fourth and fifth waves of troops, and order ours to steadily fall back for pick-up. Position his remaining ships near the Relay to serve as our guard."

Ban's top eye pair closed halfway. _'_ _Knowing that idiot, he'll think we're giving him the honor of conquering the planet.'_

"Should we allow them to provide orbital support to our troops?"

Exhaling a breath, Ban made his voice cold as ice. "No."

"Sir?"

"Those idiots are not only jeopardizing the mission objective, but they are also costing the lives of many good batarians with their incompetence. Give our troops exclusive access to our fighters and interceptors in case they need cover, but warn them not to call in for orbital support unless it is from one of our ships. Once we've filled our slave quota, we'll leave the system and return to the Hegemony. If the worst befalls us, we'll sacrifice Toren's ships to save our own. In fact contact Khar'Shan and request for a slaver fleet escort."

"Understood, but is there a reason for slavers in particular?" Ib-ba asked. It was obvious he did not want to question the admiral's reasoning, but he was more than tired of the slavers they'd already been forced to deal with.

"The Council keeps tabs on all other Hegemony fleets. They'd be idiots not to realize our disappearance by now. Slavers on the other hand, are always moving in independent groups across the Terminus and Traverse so their movements won't cause much disturbance." Ban explained. It was true, that despite the lack of loyalty, the slavers would provide excellent cannon fodder in case of a naval engagement.

"Understood, sir."

"Good. Now relay my orders," Ban said before returning to his fleet.

Ib-ba gave a nod before sending the admiral's orders to the batarian force. Deep down, he felt a strange sense of pity for those batarians who had invoked Ban's wrath. Still they're punishment could have been much worse. Ib-ba mentally shivered at the possible ideas stirring in Ban's head. "Would that be all, sir?"

Ban, shook his head, not yet done with issuing orders. "Have the damaged ships fall back for repairs. The rest move into defensive formation and have the patrols give me an update on their findings."

"Understood," Ib-ba replied. Relaying his superior's orders, he couldn't help but wonder how this war would end.

* * *

 **Gozevech District**

 **Shanxi**

 **78** **th** **Order, 6** **th** **Armored**

The frontlines were in complete disarray, deep gaps in the formations showing where explosives had blown apart the first company of line had since steadied itself and had begun pouring fire ahead of itself, using incendiary mode ammunition blocks. The fierce heat was designed to melt through armor, terrifying people with the threat of being burned alive. But from what Lereck seen, it hadn't deterred the enemy in the slightest, the humans using the terrain like an ally.

Deep down, Lereck wished he hadn't been right. He'd tried warning the men near him, but none had taken him seriously. Now they were all paying the price. He took cover behind the wreckage of hover-tank, hoping the human artillery would spare him their wrath. A yellow river blanketed the snow, the shouts of weapons firing and detonating filled his ears. Lereck clutched his rifle in a death-grip, trying to fight the panic filling his body, while attempting to remember how the situation turned into the nightmare.

Before the first company could get an accurate visual on the structure Major Yorrow had found so suspicious, belatedly confirmed to be a network of trenches, the majority of the force was vaporized in a combined large explosion. Numerous lead tanks and armored vehicles were destroyed by a series of cleverly hidden explosives. While their improved kinetic barriers had done a good job of halting the razor fragments of shrapnel that had been sent flying, the sheer detonation force of the mines had slammed into the vehicles like a divine hammer. Many had been twisted horribly, as if they were made of tin-foil.

Then came the true horror. Hundreds of weapons opened fire on the horribly exposed batarian infantry. Rifle and turret rounds lanced out from the trenches, draining kinetic barriers before shredding into exposed flesh. Rockets, grenades, and tank cannon rounds pounded on the armor plating of the batarian vehicles, reducing them to metal scrap. To make matters even worse the enemy's artillery seemed to be unrivaled, promising death from above. The first battalion had been completely wiped out, the enemy easily killing through the slavers and regular infantry that made the bulk of the front-guard. At this rate of death, Lereck's battalion would soon become the vanguard. Already the humans had destroyed sixteen gunships in the initial salvo before Major Yorrow had called them back. The major had then ordered their artillery to respond, firing upon the human position in a desperate attempt to reduce the seemingly impenetrable wall of enemy soldiers. For better or for worse, both sides' artilleries were placed outside of each other's range, letting them fire unchallenged. Yet no matter how gruesome the carnage had been, it had only taken ten minutes. After their ships provided orbital support, despite being danger-close, the enemy had unleashed such powerful missiles they had shaken the very ground Lereck stood on. He couldn't see, but he had assumed that the orbital fleet had suffered some losses.

Their biotics tired in desperate attempts to cover the retreat of the wounded, only to be cut down themselves. By now, the entire unit had opened fire with everything they had, bringing forth as much firepower as possible against the human ambush. Hegemony armor pushed past the ruined vehicles, even crushing dead soldiers as they rolled forward. The troopers had understood they needed to get as much firepower to the frontline as possible, but none enjoyed seeing their dead brethren treated as worthless animals.

Even with the full arsenal of the batarian army firing, it had still been a bloody mess. Torsos and limbs lay sprawled on the snow amid the blood and gore. Hegemony bombers deployed their ordnance right on top of the humans in an attempt to weaken them, yet the humans refused to break. In fact the violence almost seemed to motivate them as more and more weapons were being brought to bear against the division.

"THIS IS NO AMBUSH!" Lereck screamed over the sounds of combat, his rifle at his shoulder, firing long bursts at the trenches. Ninety meters from his position, Lereck could see the red glare of the mechanical monsters cast right through the shroud of snow. They were like demons demanding batarian blood and seemed far from satisfied. Yermon only nodded, firing his own weapon just as rapidly. A hail of projectiles ripped towards the defenders, yet only a few seemed to kill their targets.

" _Fourth and fifth companies advance. Third battalion, split up and attack the enemy's flank. Sixth and seventh cover their advance."_ Lereck heard the scream over the radio. He couldn't believe the major was still fixated on sending batarians to meet those monsters head-on. Regardless, Lereck followed orders and covered the advanced of the soon to be dead.

As vehicles rumbled past them, Lereck's squad tried to move to a better position. Their fire didn't slacken, trying to suppress the humans even as artillery and tank hampered their locations. Looking up, Lereck saw the muzzle flash of a human tank. "Get down!" he shouted.

The entire squad ducked away from the hover-tank. An instant later, it was blasted into shreds by the monster's might.

"Nar'ow's been hit!" Yermon shouted.

Lereck turned and saw his squad-mate lying there, missing a leg and with his armor damaged from the blast. Yermon quickly ran over and began dragging the wounded soldier towards the rear. Springing to his feet, the sergeant rushed towards the two soldiers. Grabbing one side of Nar'ow, Lereck eased the batarian on his shoulders as the trio tried to find a medic.

Suddenly, Lereck was thrown into the air. He slammed into the ground hard a second later, the event occurring too fast for his body to react. Dazed he looked around, his ears ringing loudly. Looking to his right he saw Nar'ow missing the lower-half of his body. Yermon was nowhere to be found almost as if the corporal had disappeared. It wasn't until then that Lereck noticed a growing pain as the adrenaline rushed dyed down. His right arm grabbed his left…or rather tried to. Cranking his head to get a better look at his body, Lereck noticed his left side was completely torn, showing flesh, bone, and even bleeding organs. A cool sensation rubbed against the back of his head, a strange liquid substance. The sergeant put his arm behind his back, trying to see what it was. Then he saw it. His own blood mixed in with that of his dead friends. Strangely, Lereck didn't shout or cry, he just lay there, letting the bright light filling his vision to envelope him. Then…he felt nothing, no pain, no anger, no sorrow…just peace.

* * *

 **Gozevech District**

 **Shanxi**

 **SGB 90** **th** **Regiment, 68** **th** **Armored Battalion**

"All Bears, ready flamethrowers! Wolves, give these batarians a drink they seem thirsty!" Izotov yelled. Smiles broke out in the middle of combat, unnerving what invaders were close enough to see. The Spetsnaz were about to unleash their age old weapon: flames, pure hot flames

As soon as the batarians were close enough, the Bears ignited a wall of fire, burning any unfortunate soul within range. A half-second later, the Wolves uncapped and threw multiple Molotov cocktails at the enemy, incinerating any who were lucky enough to avoid the purity of the flames the first time. Even the Ogre tanks joined in on the wicked fun, activating their bumblebee flamethrowers to further punish the unholy invaders. The result was horrific for the enemy. Armor was instantly peeled off or worse…glued onto the skin of wearer, pools of molten plastic and ceramic spilling onto the battlefield. Flesh was incinerated outright, screams of the batarians echoing in the valley as they threw themselves upon the snow or cried out for a merciful end.

The purpose of the attack wasn't meant to stop the enemy, but rather to demoralize and bleed off their momentum. Only the most dedicated of foes would charge a wall of fire. The flame attack effectiveness was decreased as numerous batarians used barriers to quell the flames. The enemy tanks were unaffected by the attack, but they didn't need to be as Morgunov unleashed his own squadrons of Howler gunships. The twenty gunships closed in on the enemy division, tearing apart the tanks and infantry alike with their 30mm gun. To further discourage the enemy, the Howlers fired their Buratino fuel air explosive rockets. Over 170 meters of land was consumed with the massive explosions, vaporizing anyone or anything caught in the blast radius. It was then that the batarians realized the Russian artillery had stopped firing.

Soaring overhead, hundreds of UCAAV drones appeared, deploying their payloads and killing even more exposed infantry and armor. At this point, the batarians were as disoriented as they had been during the opening attacks. This would prove their downfall.

"FIX BAYONETS!" Izotov screamed. He knew without looking, that behind every balaclava, every gas mask was a sick twisted smile. Every Spetsnaz soldier knew what this meant. The massive trench line was suddenly illuminated, displaying a vibrant color that signaled the beginning of a horrible massacre. With the omni-blades activated on their guns, giving off a harsh orange glare, the Spetsnaz awaited the carnage sure to come.

" _Men your Motherland needs your final commitment. Steel yourselves! Today we fight for our land… our people… our blood! Show strength … show courage … BUT SHOW NO MERCY! ORAAAHH!"_ Morgunov shouted, his tank ripping itself free of the snow's grasp and accelerating towards the enemy at top speed.

"ORAAHH!" The Spetsnaz roared back as they climbed out of their trenches, death and anger visible in their eyes. The heavy armor joined the charge, churning through the snow into the dirt beneath, throwing mixed clods alongside the infantry. The SGB formation was combined into a fog-shielded wall of metal interspersed with sharp, glowing points, almost too painful to see. The batarians were on the receiving end of the worst possible event in a war: a mad Spetsnaz charge.

At the sight and roar of the Russians, the will of the remaining batarian division broke. Even while they still outnumbered the Russians 9 to 1, the batarians turned tail and began running for their lives. The ruthless Spetsnaz were hot on their heels, killing everything that was within their grasp. The enemy artillery continued firing with desperate frequency, killing several squads of Bears and Wolves as they charged. A few Cockroaches were disabled by the artillery, the surviving occupants exiting the vehicle and continuing the charge on foot.

As the batarians fled they were met head long by the reserve Russian militias over two thousand strong, angry and armed with the same weapons as the Spetsnaz. Morgunov had just used the oldest trick in military history: distract with a hammer and flank with a dagger. Now caught between two charging forces, the batarians had no choice but to fight.

Unfortunately it was too little too late, they had lost too many officers, and were too disorganized to mount a proper defense. Both armies clashed with the batarian division in the center, spilling blood upon the snow. Ogre tanks lived up to their monstrous name, crushing batarians under their treads, impaling many more on their spiked minesweepers. Cockroaches fired their main guns, dropping entire platoons, shredding armor and riddling their bodies with hundreds of holes.

Wolves and Bears wielded their omni-blades with psychotic glee, taking sick pleasure in ripping the batarian souls away. The Spetsnaz infantry swarmed over their enemies with vengeful savagery, slashing, stabbing, and clubbing with immense ferocity. Many would stab their weapons home, then opened up on full automatic out sheer militias were no less brutal, opting to stab the eye sockets of the invaders.

The event was nothing less than pure horror for the batarians. They tried to desperately climb on top of their retreating tanks and transports, which were refusing to stop for their own men. Multiple ground-shuddering explosions notified both sides that the batarian artillery positions had been destroyed by Howler missiles and turret fire. The missiles also managed to destroy several retreating tanks. Stragglers of the batarian infantry managed to run past the militia, making it to their shuttles. What few that could take off, were soon destroyed by Cockroaches, Bears, and even Howlers. Over seven thousand batarians managed to evade the grasp of the ruthless Spetsnaz as they retreated, but they were obviously demoralized and their will broken by what they had just witnessed.

Every Spetsnaz present took grim pride in their work. The batarians, no the entire galaxy, would soon learn that the Spetsnaz do not forget and they never forgive. The name Spetsnaz would forever be engrained in batarian history and would become a tale of horror, sending shivers down the spine of even the most confident of batarian generals. Unlike almost all the previous races the batarians had raided against, the Spetsnaz weren't easily intimidated nor were they satisfied until their enemies were completely destroyed. Unknown to them, the batarians had just made an enemy of a force far more brutal than the krogan, deadlier than the turians, and arguably more relentless than the rachni.

As the last few hundred batarians retreated, Morgunov and his men cheered at the sight. Several battalion commanders were reporting similar results, albeit with far more casualties. Once again Russian endurance, brutality, and will had turned the tide of yet another war.

"AHA! They're going to need bigger tanks next time!" A Bear shouted. Many cheered in response, feeling much of the same thoughts.

"Men, take comfort that you have served the Motherland well! But we cannot rest, cannot falter, CAN NOT STOP, UNTIL THESE SAVAGES ARE DRIVEN FROM OUR HOME!" Morgunov bellowed to his men, standing high and proud on his Ogre tank. He smirked at their expressions. The flush of victory, of defeating such a despised foe had driven them to greater heights, making them eager for yet another confrontation with the batarians.

"Our brothers still need us in various parts of the frontlines of this war. We will assist were we are needed." Morgunov was referring to humanity's other forces in many other fronts that were still being waged. "Ready your weapons andprepare to move." The masses of soldiers soon began mobilizing, gathering munitions and equipment. Before leaving, however he ensured those who died in battle were honorably buried in the exact place they fell. During the short service, far too short for such whom had died with such valor, the Russian battalion knelt and took off their helmets as a gesture of respect. The wounded were loaded up onto Su-T3 transports and flown off to nearby medical hospitals. The rest of the SGB mobilized, their thirst for blood far from quenched.

* * *

 **Novaya**

 **Shanxi**

 **78** **th** **Order**

General Salim watched grimly over the lines of soldiers slogging their way through knee-deep snow as they frantically retreated. After having received orders to retreat, Salim had commanded his divisions to fall back from the region. Never had he suffered such a major blow to his reputation. Overall, he had lost over thirty thousand soldiers and nearly a thousand armored vehicles. His heavy mechanized infantry had proven useless against the enemy's heavier vehicles and troops. Other fronts had suffered similar results, something Salim thought he'd be free of. Even his elite had suffered serious losses, with the regular forces contributing to the majority dead.

 _Salim thought back to the 'support' he'd received from the slavers, absolute rage filling his being._ _'That fool Toren has cost us nearly three hundred million credits with that orbital strike. I was so close to eliminating the enemy in a pincer move, before that idiot blew thousands of good soldiers to oblivion. At the least the local commanders were able to pull back some of the survivors. Good work there, if a little too late.'_

 _Sliding a hand across the holo-screen, Salim brought up another map of the area, this one showing the overall tactical situation. The center strike had suffered the worst losses, despite being spared from the treacherous orbital strikes. His forces on the right had suffered major casualties alongside the enemy while the commander in charge of the left flank was able to pull back far-enough from the kill-zone. However, over three thousand Hegemony soldiers were sacrificed to cover the division's retreat._

Salim shifted focus, observing the enemy entrenchments. He had to give the planners silent approval at their choice of battlefield. ' _As aggressor, I chose the time of attack. The defenders, in turn, chose where and how that attack had to happen.'_

The route he'd followed had been the most logical, a level segment that led towards the settlement site that would have also extended the batarian army's forward operation capabilities in the region. Obviously the aliens weren't as ignorant as he'd hoped. Usually, the shock of losing satellite coverage, in addition to a multi-point invasion, was sufficient to confuse most populaces. A full subjugation fleet was capable of landing over three hundred thousand troops simultaneously. With five landing sites, overwhelming the opposition was almost a foregone conclusion on a local level.

Here …. It was a different story.

 _'They first countered with artillery with great positioning.'_ Salim noted the craters seeming to fill the frozen landscape. He'd sent heavy fighters to eliminate the enemy's artillery platforms, but like the troops Toren had given him, the pilots had proven amateurs, deploying their ordnance on the trenches rather than their true target.

He then studied the images and reports on the enemy's weaponry, noting the massive vehicles preferred by these humans. ' _Good machines with terrifying close-range destruction. Different from what that the humans in the city had, though. Could this be a sign of culture differences? Perhaps the humans aren't as unified as they like us to believe? We could use that, turn one against the other … bah. No time for that now. We've lost this battle.'_

Salim reviewed the recordings from the battle, studying it from the very beginning. Mines, apparently designed solely for anti-armor purposes, caused a significant fraction of his own armored units to be damaged, but apparently had also served as the catalyst for the true battle to begin. Then, the trenches came alive, hundreds of human soldiers appearing from nowhere across a large swath of land, laying their rigid weapons _right on the snow_ to fire. At that point, white coverings flew off more vehicles, revealing tanks that had been buried to their axles, all in order to disguise the heat signatures. The tank weaponry spat fire, smaller guns below the main guns hammering away with a continuous stream of bullets. What was worse, the explosions caused by the human's artillery peppering his own forces prevented them from reorganizing. Still, he took pride in his forces. Defying the enemy's superior position and firepower, his front line troops had made a valiant effort, closing in on the trenches with what they could.

Salim's attention was drawn by thermal images of the battle provided by Ban's ships, giving him an excellent viewpoint over the enemy lines. A chill ran down his spine, making his well-armored feet nearly shake with its intensity. He checked again, no change. A third time, on thermal, just to be certain. No change. _'Less_ _than seven thousand of them in total. Against my hundred and twenty-five thousand! I've received poorly trained front liners, it is true, but this is asymmetrical warfare at its height!'_ Potential tactics clicked through his mind, each utilizing such fearsome fighters. ' _The human's level of dedication combines a turian's discipline with true batarian backbone. Have we had an army of these, we could conquer Palaven in ten weeks!'_

Eagerly, he had directed the bombers in another run, pinpointing what the officers identified as hard-points. Unfortunately, the bombers were unable to complete their fire mission, deterred by the _half-blind_ alien fighter craft. The humans possessed fighters that were extremely well-armed and armored. They were slow and gangly in comparison to his own interceptors, but superior armor and kinetic barriers had won the day.

Everything then went downhill from there. Salim watched gloomily as his new lack of air superiority rendered the enemy armor supreme. As previously shown, the rookie soldiers had no fire discipline, incapable of returning fire. ' _Proper offense required three standard infantry, mixing grenades and small-arms fire, or one heavy infantry with one standard infantry.'_ He shook his head sorrowfully. _'Toren, your arrogance knows no bounds. Unable to properly train those_ _miserable excuses for soldiers, you've certainly cemented the result of the battle to the enemy's favor.'_

Salim switched off the control set after sending a command for an organized retreat; he reflected how the actions made today would impact the future. Still a silver light had shown itself. The battle waged here had separated the strong from the weak, the loyal from the traitorous.

' _No sense wasting my time coddling incompetence. The veterans know well enough to get out of there, and leave the weak. If they do not, it's their fault for being weak themselves. War destroys the weak. Only the strong are left.'_

"Sir, the _HSS Supreme_ is here," Jul informed him.

Salim signaled Jul to begin packing the necessary materials. The officer instantly obeyed, gratifyingly silent. To Salim's right the turian slave stood, still as a statue. He signaled the slave, who obeyed immediately, fetching the reports from other fields. ' _Good. He learns. Now if only I can get soldiers that can do the same thing.'_

* * *

 **A/N:** I know some readers may argue that no possible force can defeat such a large force, however this has been done in history whether it'd be the Greeks at Thermopylae or Alexander the Great conquering the Persian Empire. The reason why the SGB was able to defeat such a large force is due to the fact that their gear and weaponry essentially counters ME tech. ME weapons are not designed to penetrate thick armor, which the SGB excel at having, and the SGB weaponry is designed to penetrate or outright destroy anything in their path as seen in the chapter. The tech imbalance or rather their practical use in the field is what culminated in SGB victory.

 **Trivia:**

1\. Major Kal'rin, leader of the batarian forces that attacked General Chu's base, is referenced in this chapter and how his actions have inevitably caused humanity to gain a vital edge in the fight.

2\. The SGB leader, Colonel Morgunov underwent a few changes. Originally he was a Major and was intended to be named Kamarov before being switched to Petrovsky until finally settling with being a Colonel and named after the Russian general in H.A.W.X 2.

3\. If you notice every faction has displayed a bit of their mistrust and/or hidden schemes. Williams had hidden bunkers, it was heavily implied Parker had spies in less than sanctioned places, Chu had a Thermobaric missile under his base, and the SGB had smuggled in a dozen Tzar bombs. Even the Enforcers had their EMP missiles in case anything went wrong.

4\. If you've paid attention, all of Endwar game types have been covered: Siege, Conquest, Raid, and Battle have all had their chapters.

5\. Morgunov's speech was inspired by the Commissar in Downfall in Call of Duty World at War.

6\. If you notice what one SGB soldier commented about the size of batarian tanks, that is a reference to an actual line in Endwar where playing and beating the SGB as the JSF will have you hear your C.O comment about the Russians needing bigger tanks.

7\. Ban's Condition Yellow was inspired by Order 66 in Star Wars. Now you all know why he is such a dangerous individual.

8\. If you paid close attention each faction has made a reference to their elite counterparts: the JSF and the deadly 15th Special Operations battalion, the Enforcers with their elite Battle Group 1, the NCRA and their dedicated 8th Homeguard division, and finally the SGB and their ruthless Alpha Guard brigade.

9\. The phrase on the Russian Tzar bombs was added a few days prior to the release of chapter 13 or Return of the Dragon as it is titled and is a direct reference to the much beloved 1963 James Bond film.

10\. The title is a reference to the 2001 Enemy at the Gates film. Glory for the Motherland!


	15. Chapter 15 - The Reclamation has begun

1-9-2157 1444 hours (Alliance standard calendar)

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **N7 Strike Force**

The orange-dyed sunset blazed behind the massive aerial fleet, turning their hard edges into molten fire, flying towards the city. The armada easily surpassed their terrestrial counterparts, an army of over six thousand vehicles and nigh thirty thousand infantry. Their steady tramp, indomitable, unstoppable, could be seen as a visual tremor on still bodies of water. Between the two dealers of death, the city came into view, displaying the silhouettes of destroyed buildings. Xian and Martel bombers danced above the skeletons of past glories, viciously lancing alien infestations with fire. Smoke and dust clouded the air as more buildings crumbled to the ground in their wake. Stingers and Tridents, metallic streaks flashing through the air, fought with an enraged fury, forcing enemy interceptors off of their bombers with mixed success.

In tacit acknowledgement of that fact, batarian AA fire began flying through the air, threading the atmosphere with trails of destruction before the shuttles had even made it within the city limits. Entire squadrons of gunships and shuttles detonated, their metal carcasses plummeting to the ground as missiles and heavy rounds penetrated their barriers. Their eezo readings gave batarian SAMs a target to lock onto with extreme prejudice. Alliance pilots quickly activated their radar and electronic countermeasures to secure a higher chance of surviving, each individual squadron dispersing from each other like a swarm of furious wasps.

One shuttle deviated from the main flock, diverting a tiny portion of the bodies pouring into New Denver … or what was left. A tiny dot, compared to the oncoming horde, but no less important – or deadly. In response to the incoming fire, the forward Mass Accelerators of the Kodiak began to spin up, whining aggressively as ordnance painted the skyline in hues of flame.

Inside the shuttle's cabin, the five members of Alpha squad buckled in for what they knew was going to be an exhilarating ride. Commander Hower made one last inspection of his team, unable to stop it any more than he could hold back the tide of soldiers flooding New Denver. He and his five N7 marines carried high priority orders to either capture or kill the now identified Colonel Garak, commander of the local batarian ground forces. Their combat-readiness would make or break the mission; and of such missions battles were won.

Due to losses suffered during their first missions of the war, N7 squads had either been consolidated or reformed into new squads. Frost and Velasquez were old members of his team and Hower felt nostalgia, watching them secure their gear next to their seats. He then eyed the two new additions to his squad, Sergeant Stenzke and Lieutenant Bellec. Bellec had been an obvious replacement for Anderson, who was still critically injured, while Stenzke … well not many squads were keen on accepting a volatile force such as her. The two acted in a professional manner, though, securing their own gear and performing an ad hoc inventory.

Commander Hower closed his eyes, taking advantage of the last few minutes of relative peace. As the leader of what remained of the N7 Strike Force on Shanxi, the mission was more than just a simple bag and tag. To him, this was retribution for the countless lives lost during the nightmare. Twenty-four N7 operatives, marines one and all, had died under his command with another sixteen critically wounded. Of the original sixty at his command, only a third were still combat capable and taking part in the main assault. His squad was fortunate enough to be selected for yet another suicide mission, this one revolving around a high ranking enemy officer.

Hower checked his dossier, compiled from a source General Williams had only smirked at revealing. Colonel Garak had been instrumental in the war, in charge of the attack and subsequent capture of New Denver. It was noted that he was a highly decorated tactician, and was responsible for leading the batarian elite shock troopers: The Batarian External Forces. Their tactics had been brutally effective, crushing opposition despite a resistance approaching manic fervor; certainly it would not behoove to underestimate the man.

Every skill Hower had learned in his career led up to this point. Like all N7 Marines, he had been taught in the art of war, his body extensively drilled for combat to the point where it was not _nearly_ instinctual, but a form of life. His gear and training augmented his skills, elevating him to near super human levels. Yet for all of his experience, the years spent in the force, he was still human – still vulnerable, and more than capable of making mistakes.

Hower's breathing steadied, his thoughts focused on the mission.

His foes were estimated to number over twenty thousand, with ten thousand vehicles and aircraft, far exceeding the allied forces. The mission was one of desperation, much like the allied invasion of Normandy during WWII. It was one hell of a gamble, but if pulled off, it would mean the liberation of Shanxi – or at the very least a secured status.

On the plus side, there were rumors that Alliance reinforcements were about to arrive, as soon as the next day. Hower didn't know what to think, but at least the tales gave hope. The batarians couldn't hope to match the population for quantity, but their military strength outnumbered the allied armies by a significant margin thanks to their fleet above the planet, holding it hostage to bombardment.

Fortunately, said fleet was intel-dead; multiple pre-emptive strikes had taken out most of their communication arrays outside of the city's limits. Those few sensor stations that remained, heavily fortified by enemy troops, were being constantly jammed by every AI and VI humanity had available. Recon teams had reported batarian movements, shifting large numbers of people captured along the east coast to this very city, the sight of humanity's first and worst loss in the war. The allied forces were ordered, if possible, to rescue as many civilians as they could, to at least salvage something from this abysmal hell.

Another high priority for the main force was the capture of any remaining operational defenses, using them as a shield from batarian orbital retaliation. This was another part of the gamble; with New Denver secured, the batarians on the ground could retreat only to the ocean while their space-born allies would be unable to retaliate into this sector of the colony. Deprived of that advantage, the war would turn in humanity's favor; however success relied heavily upon the successful completion of multiple objectives, including that of one Colonel Garak.

The moment the Kodiak entered the city, it was immediately assaulted by anti-air flak from mobile AAs. The pilot adjusted the shuttle's flight path, maneuvering at angles Hower wouldn't be able to remember, using the remains of skyscrapers as cover. The shuttle's kinetic barriers provided additional protection from the enemy's AA fire, but a straight hit could gut the shuttle like a fish.

Sergeant Stenzke, not one to let a moment of retaliation pass by, opened one of the side-bay doors and began unloading 30mm fire upon any enemy unfortunate enough to stray across her sights. It wasn't easy considering the amount of incoming fire, serving more as minimal suppressing fire on enemy infantry. Regardless, Stenzke's efforts singled out enemy troop positions for allied ground forces.

The shuttle continued to move deeper into the city, gyrating through the maelstrom, fighting just to stay in the air while avoiding AA fire. Hower peered out of the Kodiak and saw burning bodies and vehicles, shattered debris everywhere, and hundreds of armored figures of human soldiers moving alongside the rumbling of their vehicles.

The air suddenly began to vibrate, a consistent rolling thunderclap that shook Hower to his bones. Vapor trails began decorating the horizon, signaling the roaring fire of batarian artillery. It was not shocking the weapons bore the name 'Voice of Kings.' He looked ahead and saw the outlines of batarian vehicles and troops moving towards the Alliance marines. The Kodiak may not have had the best of armaments, but thankfully it still had some.

"Stenzke pick your targets!" Hower yelled.

With a crisp salute, Stenzke realigned the Kodiak's turret to target the approaching batarians, a feral grin growing. The shuttle shook under the force of her fusillade, the turret's dampers barely keeping their motion level.

Gleefully, Hower saw a small stretch of area erupting itself with puffs of flying dirt, concrete shards exploding out of the ground while the contrails of wailing rounds descended upon the batarian advance.

Stenzke wasted some ammunition upon a decaying section of a building, but her efforts caused it to fall upon several batarians. Hower noted a grin on her face, eyes focused on the spectacle. Silently, he resolved to never get on her bad side; the follow-up would be exciting, but surviving her initial wrath would be … challenging.

He glanced back, looking for threats. To his relief, he only saw multiple shuttles hovering over the area, deploying more strike teams before disengaging. Tanks rolled down the street, firing on the enemy targets further down the road. But Hower's shuttle continued to streak past them onto their objective. His helmet began clicking quietly in his ear, updating information as it came in. He concentrated on the data stream.

Nearing the city's destroyed spaceport; Hower stood and faced the warriors under his command. "Weapons ready. We have a target lock on the LZ, but drones picked up signatures of a few teams of batarians," his grip shifted, tightening on his rifle. "Be advised, these are not the measly pirates you've faced before, but highly trained shock troopers, if I had to guess. Be ready for anything."

Acknowledgement came, if not in unison, then in enthusiastic forms. The pleasant rattle of hardware, the dull clack of a long barrel, was like the sound of a string quartet warming up before a concert. Only time would tell if this was their swan song, or the next greatest hit.

Hower took the last few seconds to survey the surroundings. Ruined buildings provided excellent cover for snipers or forward spotters. The debris also made it difficult for aircraft to locate enemy AA guns or armor. If the batarians were intelligent, Hower would have bet that they'd set up anti-tank mines and ambushes along narrow passes to slow a full-scale Alliance's advance. It was clear by the scene before him that a stealth insertion was optimal; a large force would be incapable of getting far without coming under attack from either artillery or aircraft. Not to mention that speed was of the essence.

The Kodiak slowed as it approached its destination, decreasing its altitude in a single gliding motion. Without the slightest hesitation, all five N7 jumped, the small thrusters on their combat boots minimizing the fall. Joining their fall was a five meter tall mechanical monstrosity, one of the few present on Shanxi. All N7 marines easily reached the ground without injuries; unfortunately the shuttle could not say the same. Before it could even clear the spaceport, a missile salvo shot from the port's barely intact tower, smoke trails writing doom in the sky before impacting the shuttle. The magnitude was far more than the shuttle's defenses could withstand; and the missiles tore through its midsection like tinfoil.

" _Shit this is, KS-34, We're going down! I repeat we're going down!"_ The pilot screeched into her radio as the shuttle struggled to remain leveled. The last specks of the Kodiak Hower could see was it having its front section in a vertical alignment, the worst possible situation for any shuttle. A sudden explosion signaling the shuttle's crash landing ended all further transmission.

Within moments, an entire company of batarian soldiers emerged from the ruins, immediately surrounding the N7 squad. Within seconds they opened fire on the N7 squad. Bellec quickly created a barrier around the squad, granting precious moments as they scrambled for cover

"Everyone get back!" Hower bellowed. The squad dispersed, finding cover in the spaceport's ruins. It was easy to see the elite soldiers were a threat, although what methods were used was beyond Hower's ken.

Frost deployed a few smoke grenades to cover them, what good that did. Specific targets were occluded, but these were highly trained combatants, probably with thermal instruments.

"Hey you fuckin four-eyes, still pissed about us destroying your buddies?" Stenzke taunted. Even without a proper translator, the intent came across. The end result had the batarians becoming even more aggressive, particularly towards her position. The fire focused exclusively in her direction increased, pinning the N7 marine.

"You just had to piss them off," Bellec complained. His voice was hoarse, shouting over the sound of gunfire.

"Wouldn't be fun if I didn't," Stenzke shouted back.

Frost joined in from the other side. "So much for our stealth mission,"

"Actually I think this is one of our better stealth missions. We haven't seen any enemy aircraft yet," Velasquez interjected. Her Lancer spat a high-velocity stream at an incautious batarian, forcing him to dodge, right into Stenzke's volley.

"Cut the chatter," Hower snapped. "Check for targets, and keep your heads down. Velasquez, get that mech online. Bellec cover her with a biotic field; Stenzke and Frost, pick your targets and concentrate fire on my go."

"Affirmative." The engineer replied. Her fingers twitched in anticipation, stretching forward as the biotic field shimmered into existence around her.

"Everyone else ready?" Hower questioned; it was like watching a pack of attack dogs, straining at their restraints. He was glad he wasn't the rabbit. "NOW!" His Lancer's barrel threw sparks like a wildfire.

The rest of his squad followed his orders to near perfection, Frost and Stenzke opened fire in earnest while Bellec focused on the blue sphere around Velasquez. The petite engineer under his protection sprinted across the kill zone, the field around her absorbing much of the fire sent in her direction.

Getting back into cover, Hower watched as she reached the mech, its huge frame giving her a generous amount of cover. The enemy, seeming to realize the menace that was the monstrous machine, concentrated all their heavy fire support on it. To Hower's great relief, the range was too great for most of the batarian's fire to reach it, with the sole exception of snipers.

The more conventional fire was focused on the main squad, however. A shower of mass accelerated slugs met the N7 squad; their shields forcing them take tremendous abuse. Yet the Alliance squad moved like a well-oiled machine, smoothly popping over cover, covering their corners and taking up the slack at every point. For his own part, Hower concentrated on short bursts, forcing advancing batarians into cover while Stenzke focused her Valkyrie's devastating shot-clusters upon the closest batarians, her tight groupings penetrating shield and armor alike.

To one side, he could see Frost concentrate sniper fire on the more prominent figures, breaking up the coordinated offensive. Every shot from his Valiant had a significant effect, whether by killing its target or throwing panic in the back ranks.

Bellec by comparison was a veritable demon, throwing biotic attacks to distract and debilitate, causing pain at every opportunity. Unlike the forces that had manned the corvette, these were far better trained, switching fire to target the lieutenant, forcing him back into cover. His mere presence was a game-changer, despite the setback, ensuring the batarians remain cautious.

As her fellow members of Alpha squad took to battle, Velasquez ducked behind the tall mech, using her suit's onboard computer to interface with the metal giant's systems. So far, both she and the inactive machine had been discounted by most of the batarians, their attention occupied by the more active N7s. The heavy fire aimed in her direction felt almost casual, an afterthought. She looked up, distracted as something clicked under her fingers, granting the engineer immediate access to the mech's internal systems. They hummed to life at her touch; if anyone had been able to see, a feral grin spread across her face, beneath her helmet. Once power was granted to the robotic construct, the playing field became a much more level exchange.

The 34-A model YMIR mech, or more commonly known as the Heavy Mech, was a massive killing machine designed for anti-infantry purposes. Heavily armored and shielded, the YMIR possessed twin automatic mass accelerator cannons embedded within its right arm, while the other fielded a rocket launcher. The important thing to note, however, was in how its back housed a 140mm Emperor Artillery cannon courtesy of the NCRA. It was quite possibly the closest thing mankind would ever reach in creating the mythical goal of a Terminator.

Before the batarians could respond to the changing situation, the YMIR's newly activated processors had sequenced the situation, and unleashed its full might upon them. Both arms erupted, letting loose a barrage of rounds and rockets on the batarians. The artillery piece on its back shifted and spat shells, targeting what its limited intelligence decided was the most consistent heavy-scale attacks. A huge crater appeared on the sniper's tower; molten metal and orange flesh mixed with debris splattering everywhere.

The batarians separated, bringing forward missile and grenade launchers while attempting to form a shield wall out of suppressive fire. Missiles soon roared over the area, targeting the heavy mech with extreme prejudice while throwing a constant grenade rain to keep any N7 offensive to a minimum. The armor piercing rounds began punching through the outer-armor of the YMIR while gaping holes began appearing in the N7s cover.

"That mech isn't going to last for much longer!" Frost hollered.

"I'm on it!" Bellec responded, creating another biotic field. The dome encircled the area in front of the N7's, spreading to include the mech as well, if barely.

Hower soon realized what the adept was doing, and immediately keyed the HUD command, sending the entire squad over the rubble. "Everyone up, close in and give 'em hell!" All five members obeyed, exposing themselves completely with only the biotic's barrier to protect them.

"Bellec, I'll hold the field." Stenzke, the stronger biotic shifted her stance, raising one hand. "Take my Valkyrie, but I swear to god if you drop it I will kill you!"

The volatile biotic created another barrier while Bellec dropped his, already somewhat fatigued from the effort. He took Stenzke's weapon, clicking its grenade launcher into position while expertly ignoring her threats. It was far easier to simply line up shots.

"Alright squad, move!" Hower ordered, firing a concussive shot at the enemy. The central tower, ground zero of the batarian defenses, was suddenly abused – a veritable storm of grenades, missiles, and artillery shells pounding it beyond its original design. Both the YMIR and Frost concentrated on countering the snipers while the rest of the squad engaged the infantry. Roaring assault rifles met each other openly, hundreds of deflected rounds littering the ground while the distance between both sides shrank.

The batarians continued to fire missiles and grenades, proving their training; explosions drained barriers much faster than simple small arms fire - albeit at the cost of more expensive munitions. They were right as Stenzke struggled to maintain the field in the face of such offensive firepower. It was somewhat entertaining to Hower, listening to her curses on the manufacture of the YMIR as it trudged at a snail's pace.

He momentarily considered leaving the mechanical contraption behind – along with its slow pace – until another artillery shell ejected from its back-mounted fieldpiece. The shell impacted the center of the tower, the same cratered area that it had struck before. The tall building began to shudder, chunks of it raining down before the immense structure finally toppled. It hung in the air for a brief moment, and as the N7s continued to watch, slowly acquiesced to gravity's call, slamming into ground with a world-shaking roar, fracturing and collapsing under its own weight.

Debris and dust completely covered the area, preventing anyone from seeing a foot in front of them. Thankfully the N7s carried specialized gear that allowed them to see through the brown shroud engulfing the spaceport.

"Let's move people!" Hower ordered, guiding his squad into the morass. The mech had no issues walking through the dust storm, aside from its already-noted slow pace.

"Commander, what about the rest of the enemy?" Velasquez asked.

"If any of them survived, they've already left," Frost answered, goggles glowing red in a typical sign of a heat signature scan. "It seems they're using the slight dust storm as cover to fall back. If they warn the rest of their friends I think we're going to need more firepower."

"That's good then." Stenzke smiled. If one could see under her helmet, they would see she was completely drowned in sweat, not out of worry, but of combat fatigue. "The more we kill today, the less we kill tomorrow."

"Assuming there is one." Frost chided morosely

The N7 squad managed to reach the downed tower in minimal time; it was a substantial feat, considering the vastly changed terrain. A city filled with collapsed buildings tended to do that.

As they rested for a moment, the cloud of dust dispersed into the wind, giving the squad much more visibility. Where once had been a peaceful industrialized city, a technological wonder to behold, was now a horrific urban battlefield where batarians and humans were killing each other as fast as possible. The city itself had long since died like most of its inhabitants, but Hower couldn't mourn, he didn't have time to, they had a mission and he would personally see to its completion.

They entered an alley, hoping to create a short-cut to their destination: city hall. The journey was more hazardous than it would have been during the city's golden years. The abbreviated route cut through a side-street, flanked by the remains of group-residential buildings. Despite the shorter distance, the danger was greater. Enemy surveillance was higher, and patrols were more frequent; hence the necessity for Hower's squad. Even with all the data collected, specifically an extra two dozen expensive drones sacrificed to gain intelligence, it would still be highly challenging.

Like the ancient wars that had once rocked France in previous centuries, the majority of the roads were blocked with debris, and kill-zones abounded in the re-engineered chaos. No ground-based vehicle could pass through, leaving the infantry as the primary unit. Hower suspected Alliance engineers would either have to blow a way through the debris, or construct an artificial bridge using specialized vehicles. The N7 squad had neither, which meant that unless the wall of concrete and stone was scalable, they would have to find another way around.

The side alley contained mundane things; a large dumpster, rubble, and a few bits of trash dropped by passing military. The latter object caught Hower's attention, prompting him to investigate. The VI within his helmet conducted a quick scan, mapping its surfaces as he rotated the object; tiny specks of light appeared then vanished. In seconds information was displayed on his HUD, indicating that the item to be some sort of neural implant.

"Seems the squints are leaving behind some of their toys," Hower commented, studying the alien device. "The techies will love this." Putting the device within a pouch, the commander signaled for his men to follow. The squad advanced slowly, cautious of opposing forces, a contradictory behavior, compared to the main force still charging through the city behind him. Ruined apartments flanked the N7s, displaying what once was, heightening their caution.

"And to think, nearly seventy thousand people used to live in this city," Frost muttered. Sorrow filled his voice.

"We can rebuild buildings, but we can't bring the dead back to life," Velasquez replied, just as solemnly.

Stenzke growled at that. "We can repay the batarians, though, or die trying."

"Everyone quiet!" Hower whispered as the noise of loud booming filled the air. With hand signals, Hower managed to arrange the squad to advance in quick order. Stacking against the wall, they quietly approached the exit of the alley, stopping just short of the end.

The commander brought his team to a halt, slightly pushing his head out of the alley to get a visual of what was causing the noise. He saw multiple batarian artillery vehicles firing their main guns, likely engaging Alliance forces kilometers away. Squads of batarians infested the area, probably either relaying target positions or resupplying before heading out to the front lines. A few IFVs and transports also stood on guard for any head-on assault, a heavy deterrent for when the Alliance main column finally came through.

Hower cursed. His squad didn't have enough firepower to take out the entire position, but he hated the idea of not doing anything. The ground underneath him suddenly began to vibrate and he turned around to see the YMIR approach, its feet clanking against the pavement. Hower cursed the machine in his mind, wondering if the mech had given away their position. A quick glance around the corner set his worries at ease; the batarians remained ignorant of the force hiding under their noses.

He glanced over his people. The squad was risking their lives just as much as he; they deserved a say in their fate. "Okay, we have to choices. Option one, we sneak across, though the mech will be the hard to disguise. Or two, we can fight our way through."

"I vote for bulldozing our way across," Stenzke replied. Hower wasn't exactly surprised; a bit exasperated, but not surprised; Stenzke was consistent if nothing else. He was a bit more curious about the other members, seeing as he didn't know their mindsets.

"Commander, why not do both?" Frost's perplexing statement raised eyebrows across the squad.

"What I mean is, why not blow the artillery pieces and sneak across? I can plant demolition charges and move unseen with my cloak, and it would be a great diversion."

"That _could_ work, but do you have enough to destroy the rest of the vehicles as well?" Bellec asked.

Frost shook his head. "I'm hoping the artillery will cause a chain reaction, catch the rest in a wildcat explosion. If not, then at least the marines will have some breathing room."

Hower frowned; he was less than happy at not eliminating the entire batarian position; but Frost's proposal was probably the wisest course of action. "Right then, we'll run with it. Cover Frost, and wait for the boom."

The N7 infiltrator activated his cloak, fading into the background like a mirage before moving into the morass. Before he'd even gone five steps, Hower lost sight of his form; in ten, he couldn't distinguish the moving debris from where his infiltrator had moved. If it weren't for the marine's signature on the HUD, Hower would have had no way of tracking him.

The commander watched as the infiltrator's signature neared the artillery, the roar of their guns disguising the sound of footsteps. It stayed there for a few minutes before moving onto the next, repeating its actions until each artillery emplacement had been visited. Hower watched as Frost's signature then moved away from the batarian position, heading directly for an area across from him. Once there he could see Frost deactivate his cloak, and motion for the squad to advance.

"Bellec, Velasquez, you two move up. Stenzke and I will cover you," Hower whispered. The two marines gave a nod, cautiously moving towards Frost, exposing themselves in the process. It was a standard maneuver within the military, covering while another advanced. However, it would seem luck was not on their side. A batarian from within one of the mobile-artillery units picked that very moment to disembark from his vehicle, most likely to either stretch his legs or order a resupply. His shocked eyes were focused solely on the two N7s trying to make their way across undetected. He instantaneously began shouting in his alien tongue, warning his fellow soldiers.

"Frost!" Hower shouted.

" _I know!"_

Before the batarian force could respond, Hower saw Frost's hand twitch. A dull roar erupted next to the mobile-artillery; ceramic armor and molten metal blasting apart in a magnificent pyrotechnic display, incinerating many exposed infantry in a shower of death. A few vehicles with exposed fuel cells, or were in the moment of receiving a refueling, were instantly detonated in the ensuing blast, reducing the batarian's ability to properly counter to nil.

"Engage!" Hower yelled into his pickup. Bellec and Velasquez surged forwards avoiding being caught out in the open. The entire N7 squad opened fire, accelerated slugs filling the smoky air. A batarian died instantly, bullets stabbing through its chest and the blazing of human projectiles drowning out the hiss of incinerated metal. Hower's ears ached under the roar of gunfire as he fired his own rifle at an enemy trooper. The soldier's armor erupted under the force of a concussion shot before his skin was annihilated underneath. He fell to the floor screaming and bleeding, with little chance of survival.

The YMIR then trudged out of the alley, mowing down entire squads with its turrets before switching to its missile launchers for crowd control. The mech's payload shot forth, undisturbed and unrivaled before slamming into the batarians ranks. Two unfortunate troopers fell to the ground with one missing a chunk of its head while the other had its blood pouring out of its body like a water slide. The shockwave alone blew holes throw the batarian ranks, tossing soldiers onto the ground like tumbleweeds.

Hower could hear the aliens communicating in their multiple tongues, rough and incomprehensible, but all seeming to make sense to each other. He assumed that they were going to target the mech since it posed the largest threat, but sadly he was mistaken. Ramming out of the debris was a batarian tank destroyer, its main gun realigning to engage the Alliance N7s.

"Get back!" Hower screeched, throwing himself flat on his belly just as a jet of fire gushed over him. The thunder of the vehicle's gun dominated the air, like a gladiator in an arena. The first shot had impacted near Hower's position, nearly killing him and Stenzke in the process, but oddly not doing any damage. Confused, he looked back, and was both relieved and shocked to see a barrier snuggled protectively around the mech.

If the machine were capable of emotions, Hower would have assumed it to be quite furious; the menacing optics glared madder red, the very image of rage. The YMIR almost casually lowered itself, bringing its artillery piece to bear on the batarian vehicle, firing off a massive shell downrange. The mech bucked heavily as the main gun was brought to life, creating a miniature dust-bowl. The destroyer's main barriers had been depleted by Frost's charges, granting the vehicle minimal chance of surviving the 140mm shell. Amazingly, however the result was much different.

The destroyer had apparently reloaded another slug into its main cannon, impressive speed for such a vehicle; they must have been very eager to destroy the heavy mech. This was made obvious as the moment the mech's shell impacted the destroyer as the tank had just barely managed fired its main cannon. Unfortunately for the destroyer, the impact of the YMIR's shell caused the tank to flip almost in a complete roll, resulting in the destroyer's slug launching off target. With its underbelly exposed, the destroyer proved helpless as the YMIR mercilessly unloaded both turret and missile fire. In seconds the vehicle bursts into flames, tracks and armor crunching into smaller pieces.

Hower gave a sigh of relief, the batarian position was destroyed. The next moment was devoted to running, as he and Stenzke sprinted across the gap dividing the two fire-teams. Their hope to regroup with their comrades was diminished as sudden mass accelerator fire splattered against his shields from the opposite direction.

"Get to cover now!" The commander barked as he and the staff sergeant quickly dashed into cover. The snarling roar of the batarians was easily heard in the firefight, Hower was pleased his escape from their wrath agitated them. The enemy was at most platoon-sized, light infantry mixed with rocket troopers, mostly likely meant to act as support. Hower assumed seeing the N7 squad standing over the piles of their dead did not make them the least bit happy.

Stenzke fired her Valkyrie at a building, causing chucks of concrete to come spilling down. Catching on to what the staff sergeant was thinking, Bellec used his own biotics, diverting the falling debris onto strategic areas. It wasn't deployed on the batarians themselves, since they were too far away for Bellec to carry such a load; however, he was able to give Stenzke and Hower some badly needed cover.

Hower, himself didn't have time to thank the lieutenant, becoming preoccupied with the advancing enemy force. He waited for half a second, and then leaned from behind cover, leveling his Viper at the first enemy he saw. His sniper rifle kicked multiple times, the recoil slamming against his shoulder. He spent a valuable moment watching as the alien's head shattered the moment the rounds collided with flesh.

Stenzke's fire was a lot less accurate, her Typhoon compensating by firing off hundreds of rounds per minute. Thankfully her gun maintained a large stock of heat sinks, giving the weapon its notorious high rate of fire. She was managing to pin an entire squad by herself, an impressive feat. The YMIR took residence near her, sensing some sort of bond over the carnage both were releasing.

To one side, Frost maintained his cool, firing his Valiant in a precision exhibition – attempting to reduce the enemy's number before they closed in. Bellec did the same with his Lancer, firing in longer bursts. Velasquez took a few seconds to activate her attack drone, sending it targets before equipping her assault rifle.

The drone did its job, harassing the enemy infantry with electrical arcs. One batarian got rid of the pest by firing a missile at it, completely destroying it in the process. It was clearly over-kill, though Hower doubted very much the batarian cared.

"Well it looks like they killed your toy," Bellec told the engineer.

"Bastards, just can't help themselves now can they?" Velasquez responded. She continued to mutter under her breath, "Mental note, upgrade shields soon."

"Shit, here comes some more!" A slightly panicked shout came over the roar of battle. The shout had come from, surprisingly, Stenzke; anything that caused her to become anxious was more than enough to unsettle the rest of the squad.

"Well it looks like it's our old friends," Hower declared, squinting to recognize the insignia on the batarian soldiers' armor through his sniper scope. These were the same ones that had been holed up in the city's spaceport and it looked like they wanted a rematch. He grinned. The N7 squad would be happy to oblige them.

Hower rose and quickly sighted the batarian troops, his Viper kicking three times in rapid succession. Two batarians fell while another two dove for cover. An enemy rocket trooper fired off a missile, missing the commander by a dangerously close margin. Hower ducked behind cover again and ejected another heat sink, the sound of the YMIR firing off its main cannon preventing him from thinking clearly.

' _These soldiers are obviously trained, so why would they meet us head-on with the mech still in play?'_ Hower was greatly unsettled by the scenario, but wasn't able to find any solid deductions. Forced to shove those thoughts to the back of his head, he emerged once again out of cover. The moment he did so, white hot pain shot through Hower's left arm as an armor-piercing slug hit home, surging through his bicep. The burning pain froze up every nerve and muscle in his body and Hower realized at that instant that his shields had been depleted and he had recklessly avoided letting them recharge.

"Commander, are you alright?" Stenzke questioned.

"I'm fine. Just a flesh wound," He grunted. Underneath his armor, Hower felt the all too familiar sensation of medi-gel being applied to his injuries, incidentally buying him the time he needed to think. Batarian soldiers were scattered around the street ahead, moving by fire-teams with each covering the other. They'd brought in their own snipers, preventing any of the human marines from exposing themselves for too long. Heavy machine gunners ripped apart Hower's cover, throwing dust and chipped stone into the air. Under the cover of this storm of death the enemy's light infantry advanced, supplemented by biotic and tech specialists.

The only thing keeping them back was the unstoppable war machine that was the YMIR, its weapons purging the enemy from existence. The entire firefight revolved around the mech with batarians trying to take it out and the N7s trying desperately to keep it alive. Anytime its shields would collapse, the Alliance squad's biotics would create a barrier around it until its shields recharged. It greatly annoyed the enemy, but as Hower evaluated the situation he knew sooner or later his squad would make a mistake.

Already the enemy troops were swarming in the streets ahead, avoiding any unnecessary casualties as they maneuvered and set up turrets which only amplified their firepower. Missile fire was cutting past overhead and the storm just kept intensifying.

"Sir, as much as I would enjoy going down fighting, I would prefer to experience another decade of combat," Stenzke hollered, alternating between firing her machine gun and using her biotics. She had even used Arrete multiple times, sending the enemy's rounds back at them. It did a good job of momentarily suppressing them, but like the rest of the squad Stenzke was running out of steam.

"Don't worry sergeant, I don't plan on using dying here." Hower immediately got on his radio, switching the channel's frequency. "Command, this is alpha squad, we are in need of fire support on our position! We're heavily outgunned and our mech can't take much more punishment!"

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **MS-32 Lotus Command Vehicle**

"Strike elements are within spotting distance of the target," Colonel Matthews reported. After having been absent for most of the fighting, Matthews was unwilling to miss out on the second battle of New Denver. Despite what General Williams would say, Matthews felt as if he had abandoned the general, whether it was to manage logistics or no. When he had heard news of Williams gathering a large force to reclaim New Denver, he had gone through hell trying to contact the general and explain to the man why he would be needed. In the end he had persuaded the general, hence how he'd found himself standing beside the man as history was practically made.

General Williams nodded, eyeing the interface positioned within the center of the vehicle. Before him hovered a dozen holograms, displaying feeds from various units advancing through the outer reaches of the city. An image pulled his attention from within the map, a sullen view of a massive crater, denoting where the enemy corvette had gone down. It was a reminder Williams wished to avoid: one of his greatest failures. The downed vessel had forced both sides to maneuver around since the area was impossible to navigate.

His command center was abuzz with activity, the room filled with technicians and analysts, numerous holo-grams glowing in their faces. Williams took it in with practiced ease, absorbing the pertinent information and calling up casualty reports and confirming logistics. Thus far, the human force had suffered hundreds of losses as they'd moved into the city, but those were nothing compared to the number of civilians that had been slaughtered.

Thousands were murdered, tossed into mass graves and left to rot. The majority of losses were either the elderly or the wounded, while it was presumed those that were healthy were guided further into the city. Williams could see hundreds of enemy shuttles soaring towards space, escaping with untold numbers of innocent people. As much as he wanted to bombard the airfields being used to load the civilians like cattle, the enemy's AA guns were too numerous while the shuttles themselves were routinely escorted by enemy aircraft. He hated not being able to stop the airlift, but he couldn't sacrifice soldier's lives in vain. Instead he committed to rescuing those held in stadiums or large complexes that could still be saved.

It took everything Williams had to focus on the positives, what little there were. He remembered the early phase of the assault and how it had given the Alliance a much needed moral boost. Thanks to the efforts of Lieutenant Commander Yao and several other strike teams, the outskirts had fallen swiftly with minimal casualties. Hundreds of civilians had been rescued from enemy concentration camps, further evidence of the war crimes committed by the batarians – more fuel for the burning rage he knew would become an inferno in Alliance space.

The second phase of the assault had begun shortly thereafter with the entire human force splitting into three sections. The majority of human armor was composed of NCRA Barracudas and Makos, which were tied up to the west in the middle of a metal grinder with the majority of the enemy's armor battalions. The SGB armor columns in the area reigned supreme, even in the one scenario hostile to heavy tank. They were practically unrivaled; showcasing humanity's armor superiority. Their job was simple: keep the enemy's armor from encircling the entire human force.

He pulled the view back, gaining a larger overview. Miniature figures flickered across the projector's surface, showing different units. NCRA, SGB, JSF or E.F; they all had brought the formidable focus of their respective gifts to bear on a single target. It almost made Williams sorry for when the Big Four began their actual war machine, dedicated against the batarians in their own worlds. He shook himself from such thoughts, concentrating back on the screen.

To the east rolled another combined armored and mechanized infantry forces composed mostly of the JSF and Enforcer militaries. The two large forces were lead by Generals Parker and Bando, both effectively coordinating their groups into highly lethal vectors. Their objective was to use their stealth and urban warfare capabilities to destroy as many of the enemy's AA sites so additional troops could be airlifted further into the city.

The Federation's air force was doing an admirable job of keeping their losses to a minimum; but their strike range capabilities were very limited. Gunships had to fly below buildings to avoid getting decimated, but at the same time they were greatly exposed to enemy rocket troopers within skyscrapers. And always, the militia units scattered throughout the chaos were ordered to hit exposed weak-points with everything they had.

His own advanced units were rolling forward, engaging Hegemony armor and infantry amidst the various business districts and apartment complexes while engineering crews established forward strongholds, and routes for the main force. The Alliance had even begun establishing their own artillery positions and defense guns to give aid to his allies both in the air and on the ground.

Already two Hegemony supply outposts and a barracks complex had been taken by the marines, capturing dozens of batarians. They had been rounded up in a prisoner security detail and placed with heavy protection. Williams had given personal orders to not harm the prisoners. Any scrap of data they held was potentially worth entire colonies, ensuring better defenses and attack patterns … but that would come later.

He frowned. With his troops gaining more ground, Williams expected the Hegemony to stiffen their defenses soon enough, and that the easiest parts of the campaign were now quickly passing him by. To bring this conflict to a quick end, he needed his N7 strike teams to capture the enemy's head-quarters.

Despite himself, Williams was interested why Colonel Garak had chosen city hall; was it for practical reasons or to add further insult to the Alliance? He thought back to when his own head-quarters had been razed, becoming nothing more than slabs of metal and concrete. Prior to retreating, Williams had ordered every bit of sensitive data and information scrapped and any technology or weapons that couldn't be taken were either dismantled or rigged to exploded. The batarians had, unfortunately, been cautious, choosing to strike the base with bombers rather than sending in squads to loot the structure. He guessed they had learned their lesson with the spaceport. A pity.

Returning back to the present, Williams finished assessing the battle and after issuing orders to some of his reserve units, began designating landing zones. He would have continued neither relegating the battle if it were nor Colonel Matthews' interruption.

"Sir, we got a transmission coming in from one of our strike teams!"

"Put it on the line," Williams ordered.

The voice came in immediately, loudly blaring over the gunfire present in the background.

" _Command, this is Commander Hower we need fire support on our position. Enemy troopers have got us pinned down, we can't maneuver, and our mech is taking a beating."_

"Sounds like you stirred up a hornet's nest." Williams interjected.

" _Compared to our first mission, this is_ nothing _,"_ Came the marine officer's reply over the roar of explosions. _"This is just a stroll in park, but I would prefer if_ _we could even the odds a bit."_

"Well that is certainly saying something," Williams replied; the subordinate officer's humor was heartening, especially in the middle of battle. Signaling to a technician to bring up a new display, the general scanned for any units available for support. "Commander, I am redirecting a JSF platoon to your position."

" _Affirmative, command. Be aware that the objective may already know we are coming."_ The commander's warning wasn't lost on Williams, who had already considered the possibility.

"Acknowledged, Strike team. The majority of my troops are still taking care of the main Hegemony presence, but the moment we manage to break through I want you to link up with a mixed battalion of troops to assault city hall. Its well fortified and we'll need every gun we have to take it."

" _I copy command, over and out."_

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **N7 Strike Force**

Commander Hower closed the link to command and turned to look down the street. The air overhead was split as a missile lanced past and the shockwave of its passing nearly threw the marine off of his feet. It slammed into the destroyed batarian artillery position behind the N7 squad.

Machine gun fire cut across the street as another batarian squad tried to maneuver across the battlefield. Missiles lanced out of the haze beyond the enemy squad, screaming through the dust and hammering the street. Shrapnel skipped off of Hower's armor, barely scratching the top layer. Rounds ripped through the air, cracking past the marine squad. Hower was thankful the miniscule, sand-sized rounds weren't able to ricochet off of the deflective structures; while formidable in their initial velocity, their tiny mass ended up squashing itself each time it hit something.

He heard a yell from the alley to his right, clearly alien but understandable through his helmets translator. He spun to get eyes on the target, dropping to one knee and raising his Lancer. Hower fired two short bursts before he could get a proper sight alignment on the target. Half a dozen of his rounds grazed the looming figure at the mouth of the alley as it raised its rifle.

The Hegemony soldier recoiled, ducking for cover and Hower's next burst caught the trooper in the hip. The enemy soldier tumbled out of sight just as two more appeared, firing as they came around the corner. Bullets slammed into the wall beside Hower and he crouched to avoid the incoming volley.

The YMIR, with its all seeing red eye, turned its body accordingly. The fast-paced gun blasts were then joined by the mech's own, with a slightly deeper pitch. The fire from the batarian's quickly slackened and Hower poked his head out to see the enemy soldiers firing down the street. It only lasted for a few more seconds before a missile launched from the YMIR engulfed the entire alley, vaporizing anything within it.

"Commander, any idea until our support shows up?" Stenzke asked, ejecting another heat sink form her Typhoon.

"I don't know, but we'll have to hold on until then," Hower replied. Checking his HUD, he was relieved none of his squad's injuries were serious. Each had multiple wounds, but the medi-gel in their armor quickly brought them up to fighting shape.

"Multiple squads advancing toward us," Velasquez called out. "Advancing by fire and maneuver."

"Return fire," Hower ordered, barely uttering out the words before Velasquez squeezed off two quick bursts from her Lancer.

Hower rose from behind cover and sighted down his Lancer's scope, zooming in on the Hegemony troops. Rounds cracked toward him and he fired a quick burst before dropping behind cover.

A few meters down, Frost let a burst loose from his Saber, then a second one followed by the chatter of Bellec's own Lancer. As they opened up, Hower rose again, sighting and firing another pair of bursts.

The sudden, staggered barrage of return fire caught several of the advancing batarian soldiers in the open. Hower killed one by firing at his torso, ripping it open and another dropped to the street as Frost's heavier shots tore through his lungs. The rest ducked, diving for cover as Stenzke's Typhoon sliced through the street, and fire from Velasquez picked targets and sent at least two more enemy's to their afterlife. The YMIR further added to the carnage, its missile launchers blasting apart batarians.

"Cover and advanced," Hower snapped over the radio, stilling his nerves as best he could. They needed to switch cover soon; their current one was almost completely disintegrated. "Velasquez, Stenzke move up."

The two N7 marines broke off their fire and started moving forward, Stenzke cutting straight ahead while Velasquez unleashed an incinerate attack followed by activating another drone. Both women bolted from whatever cover there was with precise fire from their squad mates keeping the batarian force down the street pinned in place.

"Commander, we have a problem," Frost hissed. The marksman fired again, barely missing an enemy sniper.

"What is-" Hower's words stopped in his mouth, becoming silent as he gazed through his augmented optics. "Damn it!"

"What?" Bellec asked, unaware what the two men found so disturbing.

"Special Intervention Unit!" Hower breathed. "SIU platoon, one hundred meters and closing! Stenzke, Velasquez fall back!"

It had become clear within the Alliance military that the Special Intervention Unit of the Hegemony were never to be taken lightly. Forged from a mixture of battlefield reports and first-hand accounts, SIU operatives were nearly on par with the Alliance's own N7. Not only did the SIU currently outnumber Hower's squad but they were bringing yet another one of the drill-like guns. Early reports indicated it to be some sort of portable anti-tank weapon, and Hower didn't feel safer considering they were nothing but infantry. None of the Alliance squad had any anti-tank weapons to take it out, their load-outs suitable only for deep strikes.

"Target the SIUs," Hower ordered over his radio.

He shoved whatever fear he held to the back of his mind and focused on getting his men through this scenario. The two men near him cut loose with their weapons while he unleashed a long, concentrated burst. Stenzke and Velasquez fell back, sprinting across open terrain. Normally this would be considered unprofessional behavior, but Hower had ordered the YMIR to advance. The mech would act as a decoy, giving the two retreating N7 marines some covering fire.

Hower had no idea if he had managed to hit any of the SIUs as they showed impressive intelligence by taking cover, activating cloaks, or acting barriers and portable shields. Within moments Hower's Lancer died out, the last heat sink ejecting with a final-sounding clatter. He switched over to his Locust, glad that the unusual accuracy of such a weapon came with powerful punch as well.

By now, Velasquez and Stenzke were incredibly close to reaching Hower's position. It would seem that they would make it intact, but fate was often a cruel mistress. Out of nowhere a sniper round emerged, the noise of the weapon firing dulled in the raging inferno. The shot collided with Stenzke, hitting her in the upper right shoulder.

"ARRGHH!" She grunted, stumbling to the ground from the force of the round and the pain.

"Stenzke!" Velasquez shouted. The normally composed engineer turned around and sprinted towards the fallen marine. When she reached the vanguard, Velasquez threw overload attacks combined with incinerate bursts.

The rest of the squad was covering them with everything they had, hoping it would be enough to keep them alive. The YMIR continued to fire its blaring guns, by now bypassing the two N7s. Its tall mechanical body shielded them from the batarians fire, its artillery gun firing creating a shroud of smoke in which the N7s could use.

"I'm alright, get yourself to safety," Stenzke argued, clutching her shoulder.

"I've heard that before." Velasquez countered. She quickly checked to make sure the onboard medical systems in Stenzke's armor had activated. When her diagnostic scan came up green, she helped the vanguard up. "Let's get back to cover."

"Agreed."

The two female N7s sprinted towards cover once again, all the strength their legs had propelling them at fast speeds even with the amount of gear they were carrying. Before the two N7s could cover the last sixteen meters, a combined biotic attack was suddenly thrown at them. A heavy warp impacted Velasquez's back, collapsing her shield and tearing the muscle tissue underneath her armor. She screamed in pain before falling towards the ground. With what little strength she had, Velasquez tried crawling towards cover.

Stenzke was suddenly lifted into the air and was a sitting duck to any batarian with a clear line of sight. Rounds impacted her armor and tore through her body, but even suspended in mid-air she was far from helpless. Shouting profanities at the enemy, Stenzke wildly fired her Typhoon determined to take as many of the four-eyed fuckers down with her as humanly possible. Luckily for her, the YMIR mech became the sole focus of the batarians as it was deemed the larger threat. The mech's raging rampage managed to actually save Stenzke as it delayed the enemy long enough for the lift attack to dissipate. The moment it did gravity kicked in, Stenzke plummeted to the ground from the height of six meters. The sound of bone being crushed was audible enough for every member of her squad to hear.

Seeing two of members of his squad on the ground helpless, Hower felt like a stone of bricks had suddenly fallen on him. "Move forward! Diamond formation!" He ordered taking point.

Frost and Bellec flanked him on his side as they quickly covered the distance between them and their first fallen member. Velasquez was dragged into cover and given only a small dose of pain killers before the rest of the squad sprinted towards Stenzke. The squad rapidly close the distance, reaching their fallen biotic in record time. Hoisting her up, Hower urgently led his squad back to cover. His heart was racing with anxiety. Even though he had survived countless ops, he didn't know if he and his men could make it through this one.

"Look out incoming!" Bellec yelped.

Hower's eyes flicked up and he saw an arc fired from the batarian's drill weapon and impacting the YMIR. He figured that shot must've had quite the firepower as it completely annihilated the poor mech, causing a large explosion to engulf the area. Then he saw another arc, this one coming directly at his squad.

Without stopping to think, Hower abused his legs and ignored the pain searing through them. Bellec and Frost did the same, neglecting to return fire and content with only reaching safety. As they ran the arc of energy descended gently and slammed into the ground where they had just exited. Shrapnel and sand was sent flying in a chaotic, wild detonation. Hower's display flashed red as the whipping metal and concussive force batted his armor. He figured Stenzke, still hoisted on his shoulders, had it worse considering her constant death threats.

A couple of seconds more and they'd reached their original cover. Velasquez was already there, managing to drag herself all the way. She was attempting to cover them, but her lone Lancer could stack up to a squad, let alone a platoon of varying weapons. Both Bellec and Frost dove, hurling themselves over the miniaturized defilade. Hower didn't have that opportunity since he was carrying a wounded soldier, instead he had to drop Stenzke gently first and only then was he able to throw himself face first into safety.

They've barely reached cover before Hower spotted contacts on his helmet's HUD. Several missiles lanced towards them, pinning them down behind their cover. He could see infantry contacts on his display, no more than twelve meters ahead.

' _Did they really cover that much ground that quickly?'_ Hower thought, dreading the answer. Missiles, grenades, and small arms fire rained down around them and for a moment all seemed lost.

Then hope erupted over the squad's radio frequency. _"Alpha lead, this is Ice-pick. We have a visual on your position, stand by for support."_

"Tell them we'd like to have their weapons on our position," Stenzke growled.

Hower ignored her, but shared the same sentiment though a bit less hostile. "Copy Ice-pick. We're pinned down and could use some assistance."

" _Acknowledged. Stand by."_ Within seconds of the link being cut, twenty high-caliber sniper rounds tore through the batarian ranks, one of which hitting a batarian manning their drill weapon. The SIUs professionally took cover, their own counter-snipers trying to pin point where the shot came from. A few of them were quickly dispatched with blinding speeds before they caught on; they were now dealing with the JSF. In the moments that followed the SIUs deployed drones, smoke grenades, and even a few turrets, but none of that helped them in the slightest. Without warning seven large explosions detonated along their positions, vaporizing much of their force. Screams of the wounded were heard, but ignored by the survivors as they retreated.

Breathing heavily with his back against a chunk of stone, Hower felt a wave of relief wash over him. It wasn't long before a radio transmission came through his frequency.

" _Alpha lead, we've eliminated the enemy positions. You are clear."_

"Copy, Ice-pick. We're grateful for the assist."

" _No problem. Take care."_

"Likewise." It would be a folly to try to get a visual on the JSF platoon since they were all outfitted with active camouflage, but wherever they were Hower hoped they could see his salute to them. They were their heroes in the shadows, quickly emerging and dissipating at the same speed.

"Alright squad. We still have a mission to complete." Hower said, getting up. He surveyed the carnage before him and gave a low whistle. If the area hadn't been completely ruined before now, then it was surely flattened now. Not one wall standing over fifty centimeters high was left within twenty meters of his position.

"Great all of this is coming out of my paycheck," Stenzke uttered and for once Hower sympathized. If the war for Shanxi was hell, then the reconstruction of it was going to be the devils den.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **3** **rd** **Mechanized, 2** **nd** **Order**

" _To all human forces, resist! The slavers that have attacked us are standing on their last limbs. They've suffered countless losses across the continent and are nothing more than cowards and barbaric beasts. Resist the invaders, resist the oppressors, resist the slavers! For humanity will never be slaves!"_

Staff Sergeant Ka'hairal Balak of the Batarian External Forces ignored the obvious propaganda spewed by the human public address systems, utterly annoyed that the enemy lacked any honor whatsoever. The Hegemony forces had conquered an entire continent to the east while another to the west was completely destroyed. Countless spoils of war had been collected, including language data and information on the various human forces. It would seem the humans had collected their own bounty, since the propaganda being broadcasted was in both the batarian and multiple human languages.

Frankly, he felt the humans should be honored that the Hegemony had considered them worthy of rescue from their own barbarism and primitive culture. It wasn't everyday a race was selected to join the glorious Hegemony and receive the opportunity to be a part of something greater. To have the mongrels reject their offer of salvation was indeed an enormous insult. They should be made examples of and be forced to apologize for their gross arrogance. Nevertheless, he had a job to ensure that those that had been rescued by the Hegemony wouldn't be kidnapped by the mongrels that desired to continuing living like animals.

In front of him, the street was choked with debris, broken vehicles, and the countless bodies of the dead. Brave warriors of the Hegemony lay sprawled and twisted among the wrecks and ruins alongside the disgusting human mongrels. Some had been killed by shrapnel, others scorched down to the bone by searing flames, and the rest had been murdered by the mongrels' hands with primitive weaponry. The scent of rotting flesh filled the air, mixed pools of blood staining the mirrored road surfaces where oil and other industrial fluids had yet to burn the rest of the deceased.

Clad in his Hegemony-issued Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical (NBC) protective heavy armor, Balak hefted his M-15 Vindicator and led his squad forward. On his back rested the AT-12 Raider shotgun, a common sight within the External Forces. His helmet did a decent enough job of providing him with data feed through the heavy blanket of smoke.

All of his equipment was provided by the Batarian State Arms Corporation. Since the Hegemony disliked private corporations, due to them being a significant source of greed and disparity between classes, the batarian government had instead opted to create a vast nationalized institution for creating their military hardware. Not only did this prevent outsourcing to other races, but it also provided the Hegemony to display its genius to the galaxy. Lethally.

Balak pushed down the street, keeping an eye on his helmet's HUD. Beside him were members of his fire-team. Lance Corporal Gron' Ceboro, the squad's heavy trooper, gracefully swayed his M-76 Revenant in a display of superiority. Private Seroko Keno followed closed behind, wielding the same battle rifle as Balak. Lastly towards the back and bringing up the rear was the squad's sniper Corporal Serva' Dolo, packing an M-29 Incisor. Behind them rolled a medium sized force of a hundred and sixty soldiers all wielding similar gear as Balak's squad. These batarians represented the Hegemony's most brutal fighters, unyielding until the bitter end.

The External forces slid forward, death incarnate, ten soldiers to each squad. In the echoes of the raging battle they could easily hear the grinding of their vehicles advancing, unseen in the chaos and smoke of the battlefield.

A company of Na'Hesit fighters had moved through the area already, but had encountered enemy light armor and infantry short of a main road cutting across the eastern part of the city. Balak didn't know if they were still in heavy combat with the Alliance marines, as the mongrels called themselves, and he didn't really care. If the Na'Hesit fighters had fallen to the enemy, then it was simply due to their inferiority. If they were still alive then perhaps they were worth the air that they breathe. Either way, Balak's force was pushing forward to flank the enemy, circling around the main site of heavy fighting.

As they neared an abandoned clinic shots were suddenly fired, cutting straight into the External forces. "Get to cover," Balak ordered. "Riflemen suppress, heavy troopers destroy that building!" The force quickly came crouched or leaped into cover, minimizing their losses. A few received wounds, but nothing Adreno-depressants couldn't fix.

More shots were fired by the enemy, interchanged by the batarians' own. The metal of the burned-out car before Balak dented under the impacts. A deep scowl appeared on his face.

' _Weak transportation vehicles for a weak race. If this was a Hegemony manufactured vehicle it would be able to withstand the pressure,'_ he thought. Although he was no longer surprised by the weak quality of items in the mongrels' possession, it was still infuriating.

He raised a hand, gesturing towards the target building. Hegemony rifle men fired in three round bursts, less suppressive than the Alliance marines but far more accurate. Batarian snipers took out a few marines, but a few were also claimed by the mongrels. With another hand gesture, the batarian heavy troopers slipped forward. Mass Accelerated rounds impacted ceramic walls and metallic scrap. The batarians took the more losses in the initial fighting, with thirteen dead, but that would soon change. Within moments of getting into range the Hegemony heavy troopers opened fire, conventional rounds being joined by rockets. The incoming fire quickly ended as the mongrels were cowed under the heavy barrage.

Balak guided his squad toward the structure, pausing fifteen meters away. After throwing a few frag grenades to further disarray the humans, he ordered the heavy troopers to ready another salvo. Once he saw their rocket launchers reloaded, Balak gave the order to fire. A few soldiers with flame-throwers also joined in on the massacre, jets of scorching heat erupting from their weapons.

Their work was quick, efficient, and brutal. Streams of blazing fire and explosions engulfed the building and any potential survivors. Glass was violently melted, ceramic was forcefully peeled off, and the entire building wept blistering red tears under the batarians' wrath. Balak thought he heard screaming, but couldn't be sure over the roar of flames. Once satisfied with their work, he ordered his forces to advance, similarly treating every threat in their path.

With the street secured the batarian force moved forward, spreading out and moving across the pavement with speed and efficiency. Balak took the lead, pushing past numerous troops with his squad at his side. After a long trek, his helmet audio scanners began picking up gunfire. He was able to clearly deduce the sound of the M-15 battle rifles firing, but required his HUD display to identify the audio profiles of the other weapons, revealing them to be the M-7 Lancers being used by Alliance marines.

The sound was coming two hundred meters from their right, signaling their destination. Balak ordered a platoon of snipers and rocket troopers to take garrison in a building to their immediate right. Reaching the corner of the intersection, the Batarian External Force was meant with the sight of a massive Alliance assault obliterating the Na'Heisht fighters.

Balak faced the batarians under his command, proud to note they all seemed eager for a fight. "Today is a glorious day for us," he began. "Today we show the mongrels the might of the Hegemony! While they require propaganda to embolden their soldiers, we only need the honor that comes with serving the Hegemony! Now show these lesser insects what it means to be true warriors!"

Balak's speech was met with outstanding approval, mortar crews, riflemen, and even a few of their tanks already lining up targets. However, they required the needed signal before opening fire. A trio of batarians had set up a targeting laser, linked directly to a squad of batarian fighters. Another batarian was relaying the enemy's coordinates to a platoon of Hegemony artillery miles away. Once the signal was locked and the coordinates were relayed, all they needed to do was wait. Balak dropped to one knee, detecting noise coming from the sky.

The air overhead was split as a squadron of batarian fighters closed in, deploying mass altered weaponry and firing their forward cannons. A good portion of the Alliance battalion was decimated, vehicles engulfed in flames while infantry were either vaporized or hideously dismembered. Artillery shells soon rained upon them, slamming into the panicking Alliance marines with great force. The shockwave of the attack not only eliminated all momentum from the Alliance, but also spread across the battlefield, the vibrations barely detected by Balak's boots.

"LET THEM HAVE IT!" He yelled.

Dozens of different weapons opened fire on the horribly exposed Alliance crews. Mortar and tank shells threw them further off balance while rounds lanced out and mercilessly cut down their infantry. For a brief moment, it became a one sided slaughter in favor of the batarians, who managed to massacre nearly a hundred enemy soldiers in the span of less than a minute. Many Alliance marines and structures were destroyed in the opening salvo as they were forced to redirect their fire. In an attempt to minimize the carnage, the Alliance's vehicles activated their countermeasures, deploying smoke screens and jamming nearby radars.

"Enemy armor and gunships incoming!" Ceboro shouted.

Balak cranked his head to the sky as the approaching vehicles were highlighted on his HUD. "Rocket troopers target the gunships, all tanks focus on the enemy armor," he ordered.

A shell from a Reave tank streaked past him, slamming into one of the enemy weaken light vehicles – "Makos" as they were called – and punching through its armor. The entire vehicle skewed around wildly and its missile packs on its canopy detonated, perhaps being incinerated by a gas leak from within, the explosion ripping the remains of the vehicle in half. While the result was favorable, it was just one of the many oncoming IFVs.

Enemy gunships soon opened fire. They were clever in their assault, targeting batarians that were exposed in the street with auto-cannons and vaporizing those within the buildings with missiles. Rocket troopers opened fire with the ML-77s, an impressive volley of guided missiles. However, the Alliance gunships quickly deployed their countermeasures, the thermal decay system onboard making them momentarily invisible to guided munitions.

The batarian rocket troopers were forced to rely on dumb-fire mode, their attacks being less effective as a result. The enemy gunships celebrated by performing impressive evasions and expending much of their onboard ordnance. A few Kharse hover-tanks and Reaves were destroyed, depleting the number of vehicles available to Balak. Quickly the gunships pulled back, concentrating Na'Hesit fighters momentarily before returning to wherever they came from.

Balak was pleased with their departure; the losses they had inflicted had reduced his force to half strength. It was contemptible, how the mongrels believed they were superior to the Hegemony's elite shock troopers.

He didn't have much time to dwell on the irritation however; he could feel the rumble emanating through the street and shattering a storefront where some of his men were setting up a defensive positions. Balak was nearly thrown off balance, quickly rising and checking the status of the company he led. A mixed force of tanks, IFVs, and infantry were advancing towards them. Looking behind the incoming Alliance force, Balak could see the figures of vehicles and infantry breaking through the Na'Hesit lines and continuing to advance.

He let out a curse in his native tongue; the enemy had enough numbers to spilt off into two columns, one pushing forward ahead while the other broke off and engaged his own men. The incompetence Na'Hesit slavers had failed to reduce the Alliance numbers enough for his ambush to work. In his mind, the slavers got what they deserved, the treads, tires, and boots of the Alliance army crushing their lifeless bodies. With their mission a failure, Balak activated his transponder beacon, silently ordering for an evacuation to any nearby shuttles.

"Second, third platoon, garrison those buildings there," Balak ordered, highlighting two multi-story businesses on the side of the street. "Fourth, move up to our right side. Relieve some pressure on the main force. First and fifth, stick with me and engage the enemy. Mortars concentrate solely on infantry and rocket troopers' switch to unguided munitions. All armor, fire everything you have!"

Rounds, missiles, and shells were traded between both sides, pouring into each other through the gathering dust. Both sides were trying to outdo each other, the screams of the weapons hammering the street. Shrapnel skipped off Balak's armor, the pressure from one of the detonations sending a pair of his men flying. He ignored them; they should have been more alert.

He quickly gathered a target, firing his battle rifle and bisecting an enemy soldier as he came into range. Frag grenades soon began flying through the air as the distance grew steadily smaller, cutting into the troops from both sides. The metal frames from IFVs and tanks were soon heavily gashed, eezo fuel cells being engulfed in a combination of incinerated metal and ignited gases. More blood was spilled between both sides as the External forces engaged their foes, intermixed with the occasional rush of scathing heat and fire.

"Ha! I've never had this much fun!" Ceboro shouted, spraying his Revenant across the enemy's infantry. He was by far the most joyful batarian on the battlefield, all others considering him insane.

"Just remember to keep your head down!" Dolo scowled, her Incisor sniper rifle claiming the lives of another enemy trooper.

"Why would I need to?" Ceboro asks. "The humans rifles lack accuracy, needing rate of fire to compensate."

"True, but if they get within close range their higher rate of fire will handicap our long range superiority." Keno argued.

"Well thank goodness their rifles only have a single shot." Dolo countered.

"It matters not; these mongrels weaponry is and always will be inferior to ours just like their race!" Balak shouted. "Now do your jobs and purge the galaxy of these blights!"

Balak's strong words fueled his squad into fighting harder, reinforcing their belief in their superiority. The pathetic screams and groans of the dying mongrels consumed Balak's ears. Though they outnumbered them, the humans failed to make adequate progress against his force. He smiled as he believed that their assault would be repulsed with laughable ease. Mortar shells continued to fly over their collective heads, wreaking terrible damage against their infantry in a steady barrage. Already, their casualties were mounting and he thought it wouldn't be long until they surrendered.

 _BOOM!_

Then, the world exploded. The lenses in his helmet darkened to an opaque level, preventing him from seeing anything. Balak felt weightless, then heavy – heavier than when a _narthuk_ had tackled him from behind on one of the turian sporting worlds. His body impacted a building wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He gasped for breath, a burning sensation overriding his senses.

A large crashing sound emanated from his left, like the building was spitting out its own foundation. Before he or any of the External Forces could react, a nightmare from the depths of _kalam_ appeared. Like the _kinshra_ demons, bulldozing through all obstacles to escape from the pits of hell were six large, green tanks. Their inferno-orange eyes stared down the External Forces with unhinged rage.

Even with his hazy vision, Balak was still able to identify the type of monster unleashed upon his men. Fear and dread crawled up through his spine as he felt death herself cradling him from behind. He'd heard stories of how a few thousand of the demons had bested a force of over a hundred thousand far to the north. Never once had he ever thought he'd have to fight these humans.

"All Reave tanks target the new arrivals!" He ordered, barely managing to get back onto his feet. "All heavy weapons! Everything! Hit them now! Now!"

Even from his position he knew the External Forces were greatly outmatched, their arsenal unable to match the brute force of the green giants. What followed was less a battle and more of a merciless slaughter.

The human tanks opened fire with their behemoth cannons, uncaring if their targets were simple infantry or tank destroyers. Like a meteor shower in the night sky, the massive tank shells splashed down across the batarian position, vaporizing everything they touched. Shrieks of tormented metal rent the air as two of the shells scored direct hits on a pair of Reave tanks.

Within the opening salvo, over a dozen heroic Hegemony soldiers lost their lives. One shell burst against the vehicle in front of Balak's own squad. They winced as a deluge of smoldering pebbles showered over them. The vehicle itself flipped end over end, crushing everything in its unexpected path, except for some of the more heavily-armored soldiers.

The braver, or perhaps more suicide of the Hegemony soldier charged forward, attacking the green clad giants with their omni-blades; diamond-edge blades could carve through armor like butter – if it could be reached. Most never got the chance, nearly all dropping dead from blunt trauma, far from their goal as armor piercing bullets tore into their flesh. The few Hegemony soldiers that had actually gotten within arm's reach fared even worse; deprived of a quick and painless death. Before their horrified eyes, they were subjected to inhumane torture. The SGB soldiers appeared to take took sick pleasure in ripping off limbs, caving in skulls, and shattering ribcages with their bare hands.

The Hegemony soldiers' armor and shields were made to handle the rigors of combat against opponents such as the Council's own forces; vast armies that relied on grain sized rounds. Because of this method of thought, the External Forces armor was drastically insufficient to stop the armor-piercing rounds of the Russian weapons.

Balak's translator hissed to life, translating a wide-spectrum broadcast from the human leader. _"Kill all of these barbarians; leave none in your wake comrades!"_ The leader of the human forced bellowed. _"Let them repay their debts in blood!"_

The rest of the human force bellowed in approval, somehow increasing the firing rate of their primitive weaponry. Their strange rounds, both penetrating their armor and shredding the flesh beneath tore into batarian heads and torsos, typically heavily armored points. Nothing stopped the juggernauts as the rolled through the batarian ranks, hard as they tried. Then, there were the tanks, looking almost as if they were _laughing_ at the incredible volume of concentrated fire. Some of the barbaric humans were laughing as they killed, a terrifying sound emanating from masks of fury.

"I want heavy machine guns firing nonstop on their infantry!" Balak barked at his men. Despite their divided with threats on both their left and flank and forward, the External forces managed to readjust enough to pour a wall of rounds on their left.

"I'm tossing a grenade!" one voice shouted from that direction.

Balak heard the grenade detonating, and took a moment to check its effectiveness. The explosion caused the fuel canisters on some of the human backs to burst, engulfing the nearby infantry in flames.

Before he could celebrate however, several of his own Reave tanks to the rear detonated in huge, fiery explosions. Missiles streaked in from the human heavy infantry, like terrors from the night sky, slamming into several of the anti-tank platforms. "Fall back, all units fall back!" Balak screamed as he fired into the human giants.

But then Balak saw a rather large human soldier had laid eyes on him, aiming a missile launcher directly at him. For a moment he became paralyzed, knowing the inevitable was about to occur. The missile fired and Balak did the only thing he could think of: dropping onto the ground belly first. With insane luck he managed to dodge the missile as it soared past him and hit a wall. Quickly he hefted his Vindicator, in hopes of killing the enemy soldier, who was busy reloading, then the sound of metal twisting and bending filled Balak's ears. He looked up only to see piles of debris falling directly at him. He didn't have a chance to scream as his vision went black.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **N7 Strike Force**

"Contact, four hundred meters!" The driver yelled.

A moment later Hower could hear the Mako's main cannon being fired, the recoil vibrating through the compartment. Despite being inside two meters of reactive armor and ablative plating, he could still hear the sudden storm of noise as the forward Alliance vehicles cut loose. Thunder cracks of outgoing tank shells, the whoosh of launching missiles, and the thump of firing mortars punched through the armor plating, surrounding the squad with an ocean of deep, pounding noise.

Commander Hower hefted his Lancer, silently thankful he was able to replenish it with heat sinks. The rest of Alpha squad was sitting in the Mako's troop compartment, peering out the firing slits with weapons ready.

"Standby to dismount!" Hower ordered. The Mako's cannon roared again. Something detonated nearby, sending shivers through the vehicle.

"Stopping!" Hower yelled. "Dismount!"

The Mako came to a halt and the ramp dropped. Alpha squad rose as one and rushed down the ramp. Thirty six other Makos and Badgers had stopped, each ten meters apart and were disgorging squads of infantry. They came to a halt at the crest of a pile of debris, positioned just behind it where the IFVs could fire from a covered position. The squads of infantrymen quickly spread out along the top of the debris pile, going prone. Others got to work setting up mortars. The tanks got into position to supplement the IFVs while artillery platforms began preparing to fire their main cannons.

Hower picked up targets three hundred meters away. No specific numbers were highlighted on his HUD so instead he picked out the range of the hostiles. He spotted several platoons of vehicles and infantry firing their weapons as they continued to hold position.

The wailing siren of enemy artillery flying cracked through the air, engulfing Hower's ears before the shells began pounding the ground and sending tremors across each location. Through his weapons scope he analyzed the enemy's headquarters.

After capturing the city, the batarians seemed to have fortified the building with mines, barricades, and heavy gun emplacements. The former civil structure turned enemy base was average by military standards, but in a fashion indicating haste. The once pristine gardens that had decorated vast swaths of the rear entrance had been converted into cramped airfields, confusing pilots while tanks and infantry fumbled through the remaining space with awkward haste. Making matters worse, for both themselves and future gardeners, heavy tanks and infantry were sprawled across the flat expanse.

The Alliance was already aware of these changes, but looking at the damage with his own eyes, seeing the changes personally, gave a new sense of appreciation – and not a little feeling of inadequacy. Hower cursed all the same; municipal colonial government structures were required by law to be places of refuge during disaster-relief. A tornado-proof wall was equally resistant to gunfire, unlike the common apartment complexes he'd seen earlier. Hower had to hand it to the batarians; they knew how to construct fortifications nearly as well as the Alliance.

Despite the many advantages the structure provided, it was clear it came at a cost. He nodded to himself. It was imperfect, therefore it had weaknesses.

Returning, he soon found himself in the company of multiple other squads. The day had been so long, he found himself nodding respectfully with an NCRA Dragons squad leader without blinking, despite the other man's giant size. He didn't even blink at the female composition of the man's squad.

 _'He got himself into that mess, he can get himself out.'_ The commander thought.

Hower gathered his squad behind the cover of a still-standing wall. The other squads began grouping closer to his; apparently viewing his status as an Alliance officer. Well, that and his communication links were still viable, which did give him a certain command advantage.

"We don't have much time, but I'll make it brief," he began. "Everyone here has suffered a loss, yet done everything asked of them. I am not one for speeches, but I can think of no better inspiration to fight our best today than the fact that one of the sons of bitches responsible for this attack is hiding in that building over there." He pointed to the horizon where New Denver's city hall stood, beaten and battered beyond recognition. "Now, our brothers are busy retaking other parts of the city and it falls to us to secure the HVT. Expect fierce resistance from the enemy." He caught the eyes of the leaders of other companies. "If the company leaders could come see me, let's make the strategy."

Walking over to the still arriving force, Hower met with the respective company leaders. Each one was unique and different as the uniform they wore. "Here is the plan: Sergeant Foley, take four squads of Ghosts and circle around the enemy's flank. The majority of the enemy forces will be focusing on the main assault, giving your men the perfect cover to provide long-range sniper support. In case things get too thick, you'll have a platoon of Raptors on standby."

"Understood, commander." The JSF sergeant whistled sharply, circling his hand over his head. Instantly, pieces of rubble moved from strategic points on the perimeter, reforming into human-shaped blurs that faded away once more. Foley grinned at Hower's discomfiture. "They won't see us coming. Let us know when we need to save your asses again.

Hower chuckled. Ice Pick had earned the right to rib his squad. "Feel free to get close and personal too. Nobody likes a party pooper." Returning to the business at hand, he looked over at the Raloi commander that had materialized by the red-armored commander. "Commander Yao; do you still have that tin backpack?"

The red-armored giant nodded once, silently. He shifted slightly, exposing a backpack as large as two of Hower's own supply packs.

"Good. Get in as soon as you can. Jam their signals, send fake orders, and take out everything you can. Distract, debilitated, destroy. Got it?"

"Understood." Yao's deep voice boomed back, neutral yet reassuring. The massive form turned, gracefully "Yàmǎxùn, lock and load. This one is for _us._ "

The squad at the china man's back turned with him, moving with parade efficiency.

"Alliance-Williams-man," the Raloi spoke up.

Hower cocked his head, "Yes?"

"The Shadows will go with Commander Yao. We work well together. Besides, we are not prepared for … armor." The alien's teeth smiled at him.

"Sure, just make sure he knows." Hower waved the Raloi off. It was a little disappointing; he'd been hoping to gain the almost legendary stealth of the aliens for his own task. Still, better to let each commander play to their strengths. Speaking of which ….

"If you think my men are just going to shuffle to one side, you got another think coming." Captain Iztov growled at him.

Hower sighed. The Russian's heavily armored company had been exceedingly aggressive in their opinion; suggesting a nuclear strike instead of an invasion. Only the combined arguments of the EF, JSF and Alliance had been sufficient to deter them from the rather … drastic path.

"No, I am assigning you the second-most task, right next to my own squad's." Hower hoped the cynical gleam in the other man's eye wasn't just due to broken promises. "My squad is going in hard, getting to the objective as fast as possible. You and your company are being tasked with the same goal; if we fail, you won't."

The Russian jerked back slightly. "You would give us this?"

Hower shrugged. "I think we can get in with a bit of finesse. If we fail, it's because we didn't have the firepower. Your company will then go in and stop for nothing; if we fail, it's because we're dead."

Iztov straightened. "I understand. Be successful; if you are not, you will be avenged." Behind him, the bearlike men grunted approval, weapons clanking with metallic noises. He exposed his teeth, "I have a few Ogres with me. Give the word, and death will fall."

Hower gave a nod before turning to the last of the company leaders. Of all of the forces present, this one was perhaps the most battered; clear signs of barely healed wounds and dented armor – yet a dangerous gleam that hinted at what he would receive if he tried to stop them. The commanding officer had the E.F's insignia in a necklace, an odd place, but entirely understandable considering the situation. "Lieutenant Bankole, I'll need your Enforcers to move up with my group. Your force's skill in urban warfare and technological edge will be critical."

"I understand. Rest assured that my men and I are more than motivated to drive the enemy from our soil."

It took only a few minutes before the squads achieved their positions. On his HUD, Hower could see the JSF's famed snipers slowly changing position. The red dots vanishing from the targeted building with what he once would have considered disturbing regularity had the enemy been human.

Deeper in the digital map, hidden within the enemy flanks, the NCRA Amazon's were rampaging through the batarian ranks. From his somewhat limited perspective, Hower could only see the movements, like wild dog packs cutting down the weakest, least coordinated victims.

He waited just a moment more, watching the enemy blips react. When the time arrived, he waved to his people. "Let's give 'em hell!"

Contrary to his rather exuberant speech, they moved quietly. Stealthily. It was easy, when an entire column of Alliance heavy armor was approaching and the elite forces of the Big Four were treating the area like a massive playground.

As they approached, Hower could have sworn the Icepick sharpshooters were making a game out of how many kills each could make. Even the moderately thick walls failed to prevent the extreme power of the sniper rifles from punching through, like a hot knife through gelatin.

He grinned as they reached the front portico; enormously proportioned by most standards. _His_ squad on the other hand, had been moving through whole city blocks of enemy territory all day. A measly hundred yards would prove no challenge.

"One more push lads, and we can all go home!" He called to his squad. The one word, more than any long speech by politicians or generals, did more to encourage people. _Home_.

Their luck held, for the first time in forever it seemed. Their lateral approach to the main building had performed admirably.

They were just in time. Seconds after they reached the safety of a recessed corner, Hower witnessed the enemy armor moving in, cutting them off from retreat. At the same time, the monstrous Ogres came into place, lining their impenetrable bulk across the entire width of the far end. Titans, at ten paces, as it were. Beyond the metal behemoths, Hower could see the mobile artillery lock into place, engineers running into place. The colors on the hardware indicated a more disciplined approach, precision rivaling that of the … _Yàmǎxùn_ … as their commander had called.

"Good." He heard Stenzke mutter. "More targets."

He smirked in response. "Don't ever change, soldier. Don't ever change."

They grew silent, just as the final batarian armor pulled forwards. Hower knew why the human vehicles weren't firing: targeting solutions were being triple-checked against the best minds available. Geography, the latest scans from sub-orbit – even the Oracle of Delphi for all he knew; this was one attack that could not fail.

For one, long, frozen point in time, nothing moved. The very vultures hovering on thermals above the carnage were still, waiting to feed.

The lead Panthers and Schwarzkopfs launched a single barrage of network-directed fire, sending BLOS and VICRATOR rounds arcing alongside Fastback HE rockets and Badger FORGAT missiles at the batarians. The barrage stunned the defending forces long enough for the additional Makos and Barracudas to reach optimal firing range, resulting in a cataclysmic amount of firepower raking the enemy ranks.

Although typically an SGB tactic, it was simple enough so that the combined armies were able to perform it with aplomb. The intent was to hit an enemy with a heavy first blow, bringing down the hammer as hard as possible to disorient, shock, and demoralize. While not solely limited to the SGB faction, it had become a hallmark trait of the ruthless juggernaut.

A heartbeat later, the long line of defenses erupted in response, sending up a shimmering heat wave as the weapons exploded into action. A furious fusillade so great that it made the planet shake, was unleashed upon the attackers. Whatever shock had occurred, was over in seconds; surprise having lasted for only a minimal time. It had been just enough to allow a great deal of damage, balancing the forces disparity to be slightly more even.

They would need it.

Missiles screamed through the air, tank shells erupted in hellfire blooms across the urban sprawl, and thousands of projectiles were ejected from hundreds of weapons. The artillery platforms fire cascaded across the battlefield moments later, hammering distance targets with precise, powerful firepower. The somewhat untouched no-man's land between both forces erupted into a blossom of fire and chaos.

Safely ensconced, relatively speaking, Hower raised his HUD display and began barking out movement and fire orders, watching as the first few companies of infantry moved alongside tank platoons across hell's own park. He heard the chattering of Mako's .50 caliber machine guns and the roar of missiles being fired as NCRA Serpents teams dismounted from their IFVs.

Return fire came in almost as quickly, a coordinated assault of shells and mortars followed by thousands of mass accelerated rounds from every weapon type. Hower herded a quarter of the FAVs available to make their move with Ice-pick and the other JSF Ghost platoons, just in case the heavy firepower was needed during their flanking.

The rest of the fast-attack vehicles were held in reserve, their light armor and weapons nearly useless in this type of assault. Once the allied forces covered enough ground, he would deploy them just behind the heavier tanks. They wouldn't be fast enough to dodge incoming fire, but moving behind heavy armored vehicles would minimize their chances of being hit. In addition, he hoped the sight of an incoming charge from the FAVs would throw the enemy off guard.

Standard tactics in this type of battlefield decreed another possible tactic, given the constraints he was facing. FAVs could be utilized peppering the frontline with their weapons before circling around the flanks and hitting the main enemy armored line from both the sides and rear. There, they could also serve as mobile fire support while the main force continued their advance.

Hower sent a new recommendation, then watched the fruit of his labors follow suit.

Under his gaze, a platoon of FAVs quickly followed his suggestion, maneuvering behind the vehicles as they advanced. The Raptors began their ever-present rumble, moving past the heavy infantry as they turned behind the heavier armor, keeping the heavy vehicles between themselves and incoming batarian fire.

The tactic wasn't perfect. One Raptor experienced a missile slamming into its side, blowing the rear half of the vehicle – the rest toppling forward.

 _"Shit!"_ One of the Ghosts snapped. _"Grasshopper-3 is down, requesting medical assist, over!"_

"Solid copy Grasshooper-3," Hower checked the signal board function, seeing what was available. One would think it to be the job of a general to shuffle resources in a fight, but truth was stranger than fiction. "Continue the advance; I am requesting a medical team ASAP."

 _"Understood. Providing fire support."_

Hower switched frequencies. "I want a squad of marines to push ahead, search-and-rescue. You'll be moving with the second wave, targeting fire should be reduced."

Removing soldiers from the first wave would leave the lines vulnerable, and the likelihood of anyone surviving was very limited. Still, it was always best to confirm fatalities before writing them off. Shrugging, Hower returned to targeting and tracking threats on his display. He could see hundreds of enemy vehicles engaging the human company, along with what looked like hundreds even thousands of elite infantry scattered across the building.

It still wasn't enough. There was still too much interference between Hower's N7 team and the final redoubt; approaching would require yet more distractions … something the main force would be more than happy to oblige he knew.

He saw the autoloaders finish prepping the next set of missiles, and designated a target for each IFV. A couple of seconds later, they shuddered as the launchers fired four more rockets each at the line of batarian troops.

 _'That did it.'_ Hower saw the batarian lines fold on the eastern flank, pulling back under the heavy pressure. He caught his squad's attention, and clenched one fist. Stenzke snarled in response, twisting over and out of cover, already charging to the attack.

Frost, on the other hand merely tapped his sights and rolled behind Stenzke, already using his beyond-keen eyesight to spot threats to his squad.

Hower slapped the remaining squad-mates pauldrons, and launched himself into the fray. His squad followed him, confident enough to follow into hell itself. It appeared as if the area was just that, the scene displaying the devil's lair with enthusiasm.

Choking smoke and debris rose from the combusting craters. The treads and wheels from multi-ton engines of death combined efforts with explosives and small arms fire to throw enough grit into the air to completely obscure everything, forcing both sides to rely on alternative scanning methods. Hower gave a brief thanks to the manufactures of his helmet for providing an air filter, what a godsend that was.

He kept up a steady stream of bursts from his Lancer, relying on his HUD to give him targeting data. The heavy roar of the nearby Makos' rebounded through the air, only to be engulfed by the cracking explosions of artillery shells impacting the ground.

A sniper round slashed through the air a few meters to his left and then he heard screaming. Hower glanced over; noting one of the riflemen rolling over, part of his shoulder armor plating compressed inwards. The armor had protected him, but the round had caused significant damage all the same. He ordered a combat medic to check up on him before returning his attention to the battle.

He caught movement on his display, blobs of white moving through the defenses. Shouldering his rifle, he sharpened the resolution on his scope, seeing a few sniper rounds crisscrossing between fortifications with the heightened visuals.

Hower sighted, tracking a target, and fired off a concussive shot; sending the single high-powered round arcing through the air. Three batarians were instantly thrown back, but all of them had survived the lethal attack. Just behind Hower and to his left, Bellec quickly utilized the Pressure biotic technique, rapidly increasing their mass to hazardous levels. It required a great deal of concentration, focusing the entire attention of the user on a target. Some biotics were more gifted than others at the technique, no one was sure why. Bellec, however, was one of the best.

Through his scope, Hower could see the enemies armor flatten, finally expelling a dark fluid. Enemy down, he shifted aim and quickly threw a grenade in the general direction of an enemy squad. Two were instantly killed, blood white-hot in the thermal vision spilling across the battlefield, while a third was either wounded or escaped unscathed. Return fire whipped past Hower's squad. They followed his lead and simply went prone, ignoring the incoming fire while a nearby Barracuda adjusted its aim. A thunder blast later, and the few enemy troopers were no more.

He continued to hear screaming, but ignored it, fixating on quickly dispatching the rest of the batarian soldiers from his position.

It was a storm of mass accelerated rounds rushing back and forth between the forces while vehicles exchanged heavy fire. The screams continued to rise, becoming higher and higher in volume. Hower gritted his teeth and held his position, finding another group of batarian soldiers. His hands slid off his Lancer, extracting an expended heat sink before cycling a fresh one into the weapon.

The weapon beat a rhythm on his shoulder-plates faster than his heart beat, but only just barely. He wondered if the weapon's designer had ever dreamed of the rifle being so abused as it was now. Still Hower gave thanks to the assault rifle's reliability. It might not be on the same level as the SGB's AK-200, but it certainly was top tier in the category.

"Commander, I think we should get down!" Bellec yelled.

Hower's HUD displayed new data information and realized what the lieutenant had found appalling. The planet shivered violently and noise pounded his ears, the batarians hammering the attackers with effective artillery fire.

Masonry was pounded in powdered vapor and dirt was sent careening to the sky, forming a rising swirling sheet of dust. The N7 squad was grateful that each of their helmets assisted in deadening the noise. Another artillery shell exploded about sixty meters away, dead center in the middle of a Mako column. The detonation sent shockwaves through the ground, staggering nearby infantry and sending chunks of metal flying. Multiple IFVs were knocked out of commission by the blasts.

The batarian artillery was targeting Alliance armor with sonic artillery shells, Hower realized. This was an anti-material bombardment designed to destroy vehicles and structures. Whereas anti-personnel shells would detonate in mid-air bursts, hurling shrapnel up to three hundred meters, sonic shells would be far more effective on vehicles and structures. If the shells hit while his squad was in the transports, they'd be dead before they'd heard it.

"We need air cover!" Hower bellowed into his pickup. "Where's the – !"

 _"Don't get your knickers in a twist old chap."_ A voice overrode his transmission. _"His Majesty's 101st, at your service. Sit back and watch the fun."_

Mantis gunships pulled in low over his forces. Shells rained down around the enemy, showering them with fire and smoke. Their detonating Hellfire missiles turned into an ear-shattering drumbeat of explosions. Intermixed with the Mantis' fire were the enemy missiles, launched by rocket troopers below, arcing into scintillating explosions in the sky.

Hower saw a few Mantises break of while the enemy rocket troopers continued to burn through their missile ordnance. One of the Mantises wheeled back towards the rear lines, spewing smoke before the rear half of the aircraft suddenly tore free. The gunship tumbled out of the sky, the separated half disintegrating into raining chunks of metal while the forward half slammed into a third story office building, tumbling sideways in a shower of metal, glass, and stone.

"Well there goes our air cover," Stenzke deadpanned, not all fazed by the firefight. If anything this probably fitted her standards for normal.

"Air cover or not we need to get in there," Hower stated. "Continue advancing, move from cover to cover. Do NOT take any unnecessary risks. MOVE!"

Like a great venomous serpent, the N7s weaved through the enemy's fire, dancing in and out of range. Each step-no matter how tortuously slow- brought them closer to their destination. The defenders were deeply dung in, well-equipped, and battle hardened. The casualties sustained this far by the Alliance provided sufficient evidence of that fact.

The rest of the force stretched out behind the N7 advance followed their example, taking advantage of the terrain in any way they could, unique to their factions. Enforcers maneuvered rapidly, thanks to their lighter equipment and expertise in urban combat. The JSF ghosted through the battlefield unseen, almost impossible to target and even harder to pin down. In contrast, the NCRA bulled their way forwards, using their vast numbers to suppress the enemy, allowing their infantry and vehicles to push forward. Taking that example and pushing it even further, the SGB behaved like brutes, their heavy armor requiring nigh infinite amounts of ammunition to get them put down for good.

Despite the attack, the enemy's resolve proved unbroken, the fortified walls hemorrhaging almost every ordnance imaginable. However, it wouldn't last forever. The aggressive defense was tiring out the batarian troops, and casualties had to be mounting. Hower knew it wouldn't be long before the Alliance's steady advance would force them to engage in a direct attack, at which point the defense forces would be spread far too thin to deal with the combined forces.

"Lay down fire with the 50 cals!" An Alliance marine barked out. The marines complied and set up machine guns and small turrets to fire at the building. As they crossed the rise, even closer, the sparks marched up the barriers in an unstopping barrage. When one turret ran low, another would shift fire to cover the missing sector while the previous turret would reload and resume its deadly assault.

Hower could smell victory. The entire might of the Big Four: NCRA, EF, JSF and SGB had been brought to a single, superbly focused point. The ear-splitting sound of the Chinese amazons seemed to strike terror wherever they went, while the unrelenting brutality of the 68th SGB Spetsnaz was crushing everything in its path. The JSF and EF were here, there and everywhere, creating holes in the batarian defenses and penetrating them with a precision he'd never seen before.

The sight made him swallow, suddenly grateful the two superpowers hadn't been united as closely in the past as they were now. One of the EF long-range specialists he was watching had proven himself well, periodically launching a tightly concentrated microwave burst. Almost a fraction of a second later, a waiting JSF unit would take advantage of the temporary hole, sending a dozen pinpricks of light into the enemy bastion. Wherever the two went, it seemed the Angel of Death walked with them.

Hower shifted position, seeking a view of the enemy position. Batarians crawled all over the massive, broken walls, disoriented yet unleashing enough coordinated fire to destroy the unwary. Pillars had fallen, windows were shattered, and the entire building appeared ready to collapse, but still protected its infestation. Hower could barely believe it; despite the mayhem and chaos, the fact that the building still stood was a testament to colonial engineering.

He checked higher, watching and waiting for the perfect moment. Snipers had been placed on the roof, as well as what appeared to be large automated turrets, used to seek and suppress infantry. Machine guns had been placed at the windows, rocket troopers popping over their edges for the frequent volley while basic infantry and mortar teams waited at points in and around the foundations.

As a welcome sight, the Allied forces slowly advanced towards the left, flanking the batarians from the inside. Burning cars, two gunships, and the remains of a F-61 Tridents squadron lay sprawled about the battlefield, offering splendid cover, at least for the interim.

"Let's move it people!" Hower pushed himself, not bothering to check if his squad followed. They would fight into the gates of hell itself, he knew now. A mere battlefield was a worthless comparison.

Sniper and machine gun fire tore through the infantry behind and beside them. Mortar shells plummeted down from the building, smashing into platoons of marines and tearing them to shreds. Luckily the enemy's small arms fire couldn't penetrate through the wreckages of vehicles lying about, a fortunate occurrence. The batarians entrenched inside the building and on the rooftops began to unleash fire down on them, forcing the survivors to take cover.

Hower aimed his Lancer at a nearby turret, lifting his rifle's muzzle to the trajectory and firing off a concussive shot. The force of the blast hit a nearby generator, shorting an apparently important circuit, causing a massive chain reaction that annihilated all the batarians nearby in an incredible display of chain lightning.

"Kill them all!" A voice broke through Hower's concentration, strangely enough accompanied by the wailing sound of strange music. At the same time, the batarians near his position began scrambling for cover, exposing them to his N7 squad in a desperate move to avoid … _something_.

The NCRA squad came into view, eye-lenses glowing in the darkness. Yao's voice rose over the cacophony in what had to be a boosted helmet. "Cowards! Where is your courage now?"

Their appearance was as awe-inspiring as it was devastating to the batarians. For some reason, Yao was brandishing a massive sword, killing with every move. His squad rotated about him like a pinwheel, intercepting incoming rounds with their own shields before moving out of range to recharge whilst another body positioned itself in harm's way.

The red-clad giant waved an arm at Hower while the other cut down yet another trooper. "Hower! Go! We have these worthless yellow-bellied sons of whores!" One of the Chinese soldiers whooped a war cry, firing a snap-shot with a side arm to take down an unwise sniper from long-range.

For a moment, the circle of death paused, then vapor trails appeared from their petal-like formation. They resumed their march, straight into the mass of infantry.

For once, Hower was speechless. It was insane, it shouldn't have worked, but it was. Intellectually, he knew why; rocket fire was incredibly disorienting as well as damaging. A melee combatant could wreak a ton of damage at close range, and the ranged fighters could spill blood at a distance. Combining the two with an AI that could aim rockets on the fly while giving a path that provided the most cover made a – Hower's analysis was interrupted by a crazed batarian ramming into his side, fighting to get away.

" _Demons! DEMONS!"_ the translator activated as the alien's gravelly voice did its best to pummel eardrums. Hower planted a round into the alien's head. Looking around, he could see similar actions being performed around the NCRA perimeter, those closest to the deadly circle were struggling to get away while those further away did their best to fire erratically malfunctioning weaponry at the center.

Falling batarians told him the JSF snipers were more than aware of the distraction, and clearing a path for his own squad.

Just before he gave the order, he noticed Stenzke staring after the NCRA with a strange look. She looked at him, then back. "Do you think he's single?" she asked.

Hower chuckled. "Let's figure that out afterwards, eh?" She nodded once, in an embarrassed fashion and the N7 marines sprinted across the building's now clear entrance, searching for their target.

The once mighty and enormous structure had fallen to acts of war by both militaries. Hundreds upon hundreds of batarian corpses littered the battlefield. The marine could see a massive forward operating base that had been set up in haste.

This would be a long fight.

Hower and his marines dominated the arena like the gladiators of ancient Rome. Elegant long-range shots were memories of the past; brutal point-blank rounds and biotic rendering became the rule. It was an odd dichotomy; it always surprised him how animalistic a human could get, but at the same time he counted on that ferocity.

Any batarian left standing was quickly extinguished from existence as the marines fought their way to the entrance steps, climbing them as if possessed. Stenzke's penchant quickly became apparent; the exposed batarians became airborne, and then subject to Frost's accurate fire. Together, they became nearly a squad in and of themselves, charging through enemy ranks like a bloody snowplow.

The view wasn't any less pleasant for the less biotically-gifted. Melee combat was the norm, toppling batarians onto the steps like meat on a butcher's floor; tripped, pushed or just plain stabbed and left to bleed out.

He paused, taking advantage of the momentary respite to just look at the inside of the entrance hall. The ceiling was still high, towering over ten meters above his head, faded panels hanging in shreds from their original positions. Smoke stains, new and old, smudged once-white surfaces with dark irregular curves, mirroring the brownish stains on the floor. Hower shook his head; batarian blood was yellow-tinged; this was where humans had died.

A faint click registered in the back of his mind, a split-second ahead of the danger.

"Get down!" Hower tackled both soldiers as the doors leading outside the bunker had been blasted open with enough explosives to level a mountain, which was more credit to the original engineers who had designed the building considering it hadn't caved in.

Dozens of batarian soldiers poured in laying suppressive fire. Hower recognized them immediately. They were SIU operatives, the batarian's high trained special forces unit. They'd be in for another damn long fight. Quickly throwing a flash bang, Hower ordered his soldiers to stack up.

Batarians fell, failing to stop his N7's. Unlike the outside, the batarians outnumbered and outgunned his group by a vast margin, but fought hard for every square meter. Straining, the N7's managed to reach a protective defilade, protected by statues in a short hallway, then push further until the actual room proper.

Bullets rained down at them from every direction. They were pinned down at the door way, peaking out for just a brief moment to try and spot the aliens before they were forced back into cover. They'd been stuck there for too long. They had to move or risk being flanked by more batarians.

Hower looked around desperately for an answer to their problems; "Do we have any grenades left?"

Shaking heads met his gaze. Stenzke tried forming yet another biotic effect, but nearly collapsed from the effort. "Sorry, commander, don't have enough power left in the tank."

His comm crackled. _"Did someone mention power?"_

The accent was unmistakable. "Iztov, is that you?"

 _"Da. Sit tight, we'll dig you out."_

Hower looked down the hall, "How? We're over three stories up and – "

The floor shook, shuddering violently under their feet. Curses flew almost as fast as bullets, while the squad took advantage of the chaos.

 _"Brace yourselves,"_ Iztov commented belatedly. _"We're making a good Motherland Charge. Third story you say?"_

"Yes." Hower growled into the microphone. "A little warning next time, alright?"

 _"Consider yourself warned."_

What did he mean by – "COVER!" Hower shouted desperately.

The floor shook again, but this time the shaking came from the walls. Holes punched through their breadth as shells detonated inside the building. One made a near miss of his squad, passing over their heads before punching through the next wall and exploding in the stairwell they'd exited minutes before.

 _"I think the way is open, yes?"_ Iztov's rumble came back over the communicator. _"You have trouble, you call me."_

"Thanks, captain." Hower managed to hold his temper; it had been a risky maneuver, unnecessary in his view. "I'll suggest punishment and reward at the same time: hammer medals to your skull." He cut it off, waving his squad forwards to the gaps in the wall. "Follow me, one more push!"

The rest, as it is said, was history.

The N7 squad moved through the building, coming to the most fundamental part of the structure: the mayor's office. Instead of charging in blindly, Hower ordered Velasquez to slip in a snake camera to gain a visual on the other side. The engineer took out a data-pad attached to a snake-lens, optical sensor connected by a flexible length of stiff cable.

By inserting the far end through a crack in the floor, the squad was able to see the last of the enemy's resistance. A squad of enemy soldiers was all that were left, each soldier taking up a barricade behind tables, furniture, and – amusingly enough – even a luxury couch.

"Looks like this is all they have," Velasquez whispered.

"All right, every one stack up and prepare to breach and clear. Set up C4." Hower ordered.

Like a game of chess, this bout was coming to a quick resolution. The batarians had captured many, many pieces, but had left their power structure vulnerable. All it took was a pawn, shifted to the back of the board, and a new queen would arise, like a phoenix emerging from the ashes of its own death. As the last of the explosives were attached to the door, Hower gave the signal.

 _'Checkmate you motherfucker'_ , Hower thought, and then the attached C4 blowing the door to pieces, sending wooden splinters inwards. The purpose was to shock those inside, and provide enough time for the aggressors to gain entrance safely. Relatively safely.

As the explosion ripped through what had to have been expensive wood, well above his pay grade, Hower spun his hand forwards. "Take, take, take!"

The moment the squad had set foot within the office, they were met with a wall of gunfire. Unfortunately for the enemy, given the close quarters, it wouldn't be too hard for any biotic to maintain a barrier while his teammates bulldozed through the defenders.

The N7 squad leapt forward, their weapons returning equal retribution to the enemy. Hower utilized his Katana shotgun to great effect, pumping two shells in the nearest batarian's ribcage. Stenzke spun a grenade behind the couch, laughing at the surprised yelp that emanated just before it detonated.

Armor piercing rounds ripped through exposed enemy troopers from Frost's sniper rifle, snuffing the life out of them. The batarians were completely caught by surprised. Taking advantage of the lull, a maelstrom of mass accelerated slugs broke through the batarians as they were completely gutted in seconds.

With the combatants dead, Hower took in the decorations of the room. It was a deceptively small room, with a wide floor and long walls, but maintained a low ceiling height. There were multitudes of tools spread about the countertops, tables, and shelves lining the walls. Hower found himself nodding lightly as he inspected the room. While it was no longer sterile, evident by the blood smears that now covered the office, there was enough indication to conclude it had once been in such a state. Despite the dim lighting, he was able to catch a visual of his desires, seated center in the office with the back of the seat facing Hower. The expert skill of the N7 had made sure not to have a shot fired anywhere near the man.

"Colonel Garak, I hereby place you under military arrest for war crimes." Hower stated, cautiously approaching the man.

He received no answer, merely silence. Yet, he clearly saw movement emitting from the seat. It was enough to make Hower believe the colonel was still alive, but using silence as an act of defiance.

"I'd say we just smoke the bastard and be done with it!" Stenzke growled. She was already in the process of lining up a shot before Bellec stopped her by grapping her gun.

"Don't; I want to play with him before he goes on the Long Patrol." His tone was cold, almost a match for her own.

The volatile biotic gave a grunt, slightly lowering her machine gun. "Fine, but if he makes the slightest of movements, I'm popping him."

"Commander, I have a bad feeling about this," Frost said, moving on the lone figure from the left.

Hower gave a hand signal for Frost to hold position, after all the dangers his squad had undergone, he alone would take the risk. He walked at a sluggish pace, the dull throbbing hum of his boots echoing in the room. His HUD indicated his heartbeat was over 187, a clear sign of continuous exertion on the body.

Reaching the batarian, Hower quickly turned the seat around, only to be met with a horrifying image. The figure was indeed a batarian, but not Colonel Garak himself, and to make matters worse the unlucky bastard had a motioned triggered bomb strapped to his chest, one that Hower had just activated – and had clearly left for a human to observe given the Arabic numerals scrolling downwards … 5 … 4 …

"GET DOWN!" He shouted, kicking the seat with full force away from him and his squad. He ran to the nearest possible cover, yet knowing he wouldn't have enough time to outrun the blast.

A mere three seconds later the bomb detonated. The shockwave slapped Hower in the small of his back, as if he were hit by the palm of a giant. Its booming repercussion nearly blew his eardrums; the sound-absorbent pads in his helmet quickly grew warm at the intensity.

A second of flight, and Hower was thrown against a wall, his impact leaving a noticeable dent. "Fuck my luck," he grunted. His HUD indicated an incoming call; one that he hoped carried good news.

 _"Alliance Command here: all Alliance forces within New Denver, be advised we have a flight of incoming friendly fighters preparing to target enemy command structures. Deploy green flares to highlight your positions!"_

Now he truly hated lady luck. Getting to his feet, Hower activated his radio, hoping to avoid becoming a result of friendly fire – only to realize why the transmission neglected to inform the human forces to not use radios. They simply didn't have the pilot frequencies, or the encryptions for free communication; whomever was providing the air cover hadn't likely been able to share such things at last moment. Oh how he sometimes hated humanities division, each with their own radio codes.

"Shit radios are useless! We have to get to the roof now!" Hower shouted, following his example, the squad all began running once more, making a mad dash for the office's exit.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Stenzke bellowed, frustrated beyond belief.

The rest of the squad followed him, running as fast as their legs could carry them. They rushed through the halls, moving as their trained legs could take them. Had they still been at boot camp, the N7 squad would have set a new record for the 100 meter dash, astonishing considering the conditions they'd been undergoing.

Bellec was perhaps the fastest, surprisingly enough. He cornered the hallways the fastest, twisting low to avoid losing his balance. But it was in the stairwells that Frost proved himself to be a better climber; instead of racing up the length, he hopped upon the bannister and began jumping to the next level's rail, climbing and repeating.

"Where do you get that kind of energy?" Hower complained, taking the somewhat longer but less stressful route.

The sniper didn't pause as he pulled his height advantage to a full story higher. "I didn't come this far just to die to some jarhead!" A moment later, his joyful voice called down to them, "We're almost there! I can see the exit!"

The squad smashed through the door, becoming exposed to the fresh air. Even miles away, Hower could still hear the roaring engines of the incoming fighters. He ignited the green flares and banged them together, scattering the green artificial flames around the area. He raised his arms higher, brandishing the flares to the fighters.

It was a tantalizing, heart stopping moment where he could live or die. He dropped the flares to the ground and stood there, looking out across the miles of burning land that had once been home to millions. Fire and smoke drifted into the sky, leaving only sparks and ashes to fall to the ground.

Frost and Stenzke walked up behind him, joining him on the ledge to look out over the ruined city. For the moment they had won. Against impossible odds, they had reclaimed their capital. They didn't know if it could ever possibly be restored to its former glory, but knew that even if they ever did rebuild, Shanxi would never be the same again.

"So," Stenzke breathed. "When do you think we're going to hit their worlds? I'm ready for some payback."

"Not soon enough," Frost muttered. "But I know that we're going to burn their cities when we get there. I don't like an eye for an eye, but blood demands retribution."

"When the time is right," Hower said. "When the time is right."

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **3** **rd** **Mechanized, 2** **nd** **Order**

Balak slowly opened his eyes, vaguely perceiving the outlines of concrete. Blindly, he fumbled for his comm switch; pausing as he noted a difference; the world sounded slightly different. Wind hummed past his helmet, somehow inside now, its cool touch caressing his face. _'What happened?'_

Acrid smoke filtered in through the cracks of his helmet of his shattered visor. Bits of it were embedded into the flesh of his skin, creating deep searing wounds that oozed blood. Opening his eyes he took in the scene before him, crushing his very soul. His entire force wiped out by the mongrels.

Balak sat up, howling out a cry as his entire left side lit up with pain. A raging fire burned beneath his skin, feeling every sign of broken bones. His armor was burnt and warped, chunks dented or missing with bits of shrapnel were lodged deep within it. His entire body was filled with pain, smoke filling his lungs and causing him to cough. He had to get off this planet by whatever means.

 _'The shuttles. They're still waiting for evac. If they survived.'_ He had to get off this planet by whatever means.

Balak struggled to stand up, eventually managing to despite the immense pain. The last few moments of his memories played in his head, the images of sudden explosions followed by small arms fire. His shield had been quickly depleted, armor becoming shredded under the impact of armor-piercing rounds. How long he had been out, he wasn't sure but from the signs of battle continuing it couldn't have been too long.

Stumbling as he went, Balak offered a quick prayer to the Pillars, that he would make it to an extraction point before the humans managed to catch him. He would not join the dead today, he would survive.

* * *

 **A/N:** So this is the longest chapter my partners and I have worked on, reaching over 21k in total! Now the reason for this is due to us bringing all the past perspectives and events from previous chapters and including them here. This chapter was meant to serve as a knot, bringing all the stories of Shanxi to a final and epic conclusion. Now because of this, not only are the next chapters going to be posted much sooner than the 2 weeks, but you will be receiving the final two chapters together so you guys are welcome for the gift. Think of it as a late Christmas present from us.

That being said, I expect at least ten reviews for each. I mean we are giving you guys a bonus and it would be nice if you could give back a little of your time to post a review that we enjoy reading. Yes it is sad, but I personally have little else to do aside from work, college, and socializing. After all that I still have 2 hours to kill and you guys help me knock that out.

Also I noticed a huge disparity between favs and followers, for those of you who have only faved the story, it would do me a solid if you could follow as well in order to reduce the number down to 20 or something like that.

 **Trivia:**

1\. The title is another reference to Halo, particularly one of the Didact's last words during his final end speech in Halo 4. For a guy hell bent on humanity's extinction, that guy knows to how to give an inspirational speech I must give him that.

2\. For those unaware, the biotic attack used by Bellec dubbed Pressure, is an O.C biotic trick developed by one of our own reviewers. I am sorry to say, but I forgot his pen name, but he knows who he is and I thank him. This is why you should all be involved; you don't know when your ideas will be implemented in the story.

3\. Arrete is now the official name of Stenzke's unique ability to suspend rounds before delivering them back to their former owners. V-cringetorix is the patent holder on the name.

4\. The squad's quips about the mission no longer being a stealth one and mention of lack of gunships is a reference to Army of Two The Devils Cartel where Salem and Rios say something similar to each during the first level.

5\. As you already know…longest chapter ever!

6\. We all get to see our favorite batarian, Balak and his huge ego. Not to mention the cringe-worthy irony. I mean I think I made him far better than the canon version to the point I almost wanted to punch myself for writing someone so arrogant. I am sure all of you are glad he got what he deserved…and then immediately got pissed he survived. Well at least he is traumatized.

7\. We see an example where humanity's division is a weakness in the form of radio frequencies. Good thing Hower was able to ignite the flares, and also yes it is a tribute to MW2's last scene of the Rangers!

8\. The Yao with a sword scene near the end was inspired by the 'stick-and-bucket-dance' written by Terry Pratchett (Lords and Ladies, I believe)

9\. Yao's armor color changed a few times in this writing.

Raloi aren't seen outside of a single cameo ... their stealth is just that good.

chapter took over 6 weeks to get right, partially because one beta is slow at his own admission, but also due to the length.


	16. Chapter 16 - Between two fires

1-9-2157 1943 hours (Alliance standard calendar)

 _ **SSV Tesla**_

 **Super Carrier**

 **Command Deck**

The first thing that often struck new-comers to the age of space travel wasn't its vastness nor the freedoms it promised with its billions of star systems to explore, but it was rather how absolutely mind-numbly empty it was. All that empty space to see, to explore and yet not a single sentient race to share it with. Or so it was said. The past few weeks had changed that belief. Science fiction had become reality and for a brief moment it could be wondered if humanity truly wished to return to its ignorant past and avoid the horrors that came with awareness, but the truth was humanity was a fighter and like a fighter it was often too stubborn to back down.

It was because of this reason that Fleet Admiral Michael Spencer now stood at the helm of his ship, the _SSV Tesla,_ watching the numbers on his screen scroll downward; Shanxi drawing ever-closer, and yet being tantalizingly out of reach. As the newly commissioned de facto leader of all Alliance fleets, he steeled himself for the single largest military offensive that the Systems Alliance had ever undertaken … the liberation of a human colony from alien invaders.

Two hundred ships, ranging from small medical transports ships to several examples of the mighty super carrier filled Spencer with strong pride in mankind's capabilities, who was more than willing to show them as well. The sheer number of spacecraft and combat troops marshaled for the liberation of Shanxi numbered in the millions, an action unheard of since the previous millennia. The last military action of that magnitude had been a world-shattering event and mankind's most destructive war, World War Two, often remembered as World at War. Spencer took a moment to pray the current conflict wouldn't be quite as devastating to mankind.

This large collection of ships, troops, and supplies made up the total composition of the 5th fleet's quick response force. The fleet's initial construction dated back to 2127, after a group of pirates had stolen a cruiser from a ship yard and began conducting raids on merchant ships; resulting in a chase that lasted for six months. In response, the 5th fleet had been envisioned as a massive striking force. Unlike other fleets, the majority of the 5th fleet's vessels were never parceled out into small detachments or even tasks forces used for scouting and security. By somewhat contentious agreement, they were largely kept homogeneous. The anticipated result was that in the case of hostile contact, the Alliance would be able to pour a heavy concentration of ships in any one area in a short amount of time. Another reason was that the 5th fleet was responsible for guarding Arcturus Station, the capital of the Alliance and gateway to humanity's core worlds. Now, it had been mobilized and were about to show the true might of the Alliance.

Spencer could feel the excitement, even from his current position. Everyone was both prepared and committed. It was hard _not_ to. Every crewmember of the fleet was more than aware of how every day spent preparing for the assault was another day the defenders at Shanxi had to endure.

It wasn't often that navy crews or pilots felt solace for their ground side colleagues, but knowing that soldiers were dying because you were crawling to their rescue wasn't something easily stomached by most. The fleet's complement of marines and army troopers, both Alliance and sovereign, were even more keyed up than the sailors, each one seeing Shanxi as an example of both pride and sadness. What made it worse for them than their naval compatriots is that without ship preparations to keep them occupied, most of them could only wait and think about what they were going to be facing.

As he sat in his command chair on the bridge, Spencer was reviewing the notes and findings on the batarians. Their tactics on the ground and in space were very similar, utilizing firepower supremacy from long range before committing to close encounters. It would be rather simple to find a counter to their methods, ideally through forcing them into close combat or endure his ship's ECM screens. But what greatly tore at Spencer, was the alien's heinous culture.

Thanks to Commander Dain, the Alliance was now aware of the legal slavery practiced by the batarians. Judging from their unprovoked attack, it was clear what their motivations were. How many had been taken? He didn't know, but what he _did_ know was that once the Alliance had liberated Shanxi, not one more human being would be subjected to slavery and that was a promise he was willing to take to the grave.

Unfortunately for him, the immense stream of bad news only seemed to make the tactical situation much worse. Since Shanxi's comm. buoys were destroyed in the initial assault, the colony had been completely isolated from the rest of the Alliance. No one at Arcturus had any idea what was going on; at least not until Dain's daring escape. What they now knew was that the batarian fleet numbered at just over three hundred. The 98th had given them a bloody nose, but it wasn't enough to completely deter the batarians from ransacking the planet.

Now, even with a proper response prepared, the batarians still held the advantage, outnumbering the Alliance by at least a hundred more ships. The only edge the Alliance held was that the batarians wouldn't be expecting elements of the 5th fleet and two full army groups to come to the rescue. Even so, everyone knew they would have a fierce fight on their hands in space almost as much as the ones on Shanxi's surface.

But Spencer couldn't concern himself with ground combat. It simply wasn't his job. His orders were to sweep the batarian fleet from orbit surrounding Shanxi so that ground forces could move in and relieve the defenders. He knew he had more than enough combat power arrayed to deal with the enemy, though a blunt direct assault on the batarian fleet would guarantee needless casualties. He could do better. Years of experience had taught him how to utilize force and finesse to create a lethal combination. He nodded. _'Yes, we can do this.'_ Looking around the command bridge, Spencer could see the determined expressions on his crew. _'Or die trying.'_

"Estimated drop in approximately two minutes sir," Ensign Cruz stated as the ship cruised at FTL.

It was routine procedure common during exercises, but now - for the first time - the 5th fleet of the Systems Alliance Navy was jumping into combat against another galactic power. Admiral Spencer held his head high, proud of both the powerful collection of ships and the brave sailors operating them. They were ready and they knew their arrival wouldn't be a moment too soon.

Spencer leaned against his chair and surveyed the blue traces of FTL at the distance. He wished the circumstances of his command were more auspicious, but Shanxi needed to be relieved. And he had his orders.

He scanned the structure of his ship and relishing in the shared pride of human industry. The _Tesla_ had rolled out of space dock at Arcturus – one of the Alliances primary naval yards - just the previous year. Her AI was of the newer models, and required a bit more maintenance than its predecessors. Despite that minor handicap, the _Tesla_ was fast, well armored, and carrying a full load of ships, spacecraft, and other assets.

Unlike the battleships that Admiral Spencer had toured on before, the _Telsa_ was a super carrier. When fully loaded, she weighed more than any battleship, and was just about half if empty, despite being an entire kilo-meter longer. Some politicians had believed the massive ships to be unwieldy in combat - too slow, cumbersome to maintain, and completely vulnerable to any attack since it lacked a main gun. What Spencer had longed to remind those critics was that super carriers had never been intended to be used on the frontlines, but rather maintain a strong rear position to rearm and refuel smaller craft. While it was true that the _Tesla_ lacked a main cannon like all carriers, their attention might be directed to the super carrier's vast ordnance, ranging from the 12 foot long kinetic rods to the modest interceptor missiles. The hundreds of vehicles and thousands of troops the super carrier carried only made her even more useful in relief operations. To any whom would wish to highlight the carrier's vulnerability, Spencer would kindly remind them of the solid 6.1 meters of Ablative armor plating covering the ship from stem to stern.

"Sir, dropping into real space in 3…2…1."

The admiral's thoughts ended as the _SSV Tesla_ dropped out of FTL, with the rest of the QRF force surrounding his ship. However the fog of war was a cruel thing, for Spencer had made one critical error in his judgment. In the belief that he held the advantage of surprise, he had ordered his corvettes and light frigates forward to both provide screens of fire, and have a few additional minutes to make a mad dash for the planet while the rest of the fleet engaged the batarians.

So it was much to Spencer's surprise and shock when his forward elements were met headlong by over a hundred vessels, all of them frigate class or above. To make matters worse, they were all lined up in a thick defensive formation with clear line of sights and fully charged weapons.

* * *

 _ **HSS Cursed Soul**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

"Commander, we have human vessels approaching…"

"…they just appeared along vectors three nine mark three near the relay!"

"Our frigate screen is moving up to flank their positions, and we have two cruiser battle groups requesting orders."

"Ground combat operations have been recalled! Total evacuation of batarian soldiers is at seventy percent."

"Sir! Readings indicate their largest ship measures at three kilometers! That's larger than any dreadnought!"

The command bridge of the _Cursed Soul_ was one of pure chaos. The crewmen on duty were dashing around, trying to handle what was happening, while the higher ranking officers were rushing in, drawn by the battle alarms and trying to obtain additional information. Somehow, the humans had struck at the worst possible time. Ban's fleet was conducting evacuations of all ground troopers and slaves while the pirate ships had been ordered to stand guard. To make matters worse, the most experienced commanders were off shift, getting some rest of their own.

Lieutenant Commander Toren strode into the command bridge and surveyed the turmoil, a faint sneer building. He stood in silence for a moment, taking in the panic with some shock of his own before speaking so loudly that he was practically screaming.

"Calm down! Are you not the bane of the Terminus?" He bellowed over the din of the command bridge. The officers sitting in their command stations and surrounding the map table looked up at him. Under his gaze, the _Cursed Soul's_ third officer hung his head in shame and stepped away from the map showing local space and gestured to it.

Toren walked closer and glared at the officer in silence, his gaze accusing. The young officer had panicked and lost control of the bridge, failing to maintain discipline. The commander said nothing, but turned away from the younger man in disgust, instead focusing on the map table. Without a doubt the situation was bad, but not hopeless. His forces held a serious advantage, if the attackers wanted to engage at long range with mass accelerators, they would risk hitting their own colony while his own forces were free of any such restrictions.

He took a moment to scan the human fleet, and what he saw sent a shiver down his spine. The largest human ship was as long as the _Destiny Ascension_ was tall. Thankfully from, what Toren could see, that particular ship lacked a main gun, its escort surrounding it in a protective screen. It was easily a command and control ship, mostly likely used for logistical purposes. Toren grunted. _'What race would willingly make such a large ship and not use it for combat?'_ He shook his head, these primitives were beyond foolish. But six new contacts froze the words in his mouth.

He was no stranger to interstellar combat, even among forces of roughly equal strength, but those six new arrivals paralyzed him with fear. Across the galaxy he'd seen the various space faring races field countless models of ships, with equally innumerable variations of appearance. Among all that diversity, there was one shape that was universal, and it was unmistakably here.

' _The humans have dreadnoughts…'_ Toren thought, trepidation overriding any sense. Worse than that discovery was that only one of the massive death-dealers maintained a similar design to his own; the other five …. He swallowed hard. The other five were _far_ more heavily armored, displaying their armor plating with menacing vigor. In a fashion he couldn't recognize, the sensors clicked a new warning, showing that somehow those five ships wielded two mass accelerator cannons. _'How?'_ Was all Toren could think as he stared at the menacing ships.

"Sir, what are your orders?" An ensign called out.

It was only then, that Toren realized that his crew was eyeing him expectantly. Quickly, he regained his composure, and began delivering orders.

"Have all interceptors mass at our position and recall any of our ships providing over-watch on the planet's surface. I want them to regroup on our location as soon as possible. Have the fleet move into combat formation and keep the planet behind us!" Toren's voice was as cold as ice and steady as granite. It was just the kind of thing that was needed for the crew to regain confidence, moving with gratifying speed to relay the commander's orders.

Toren leaned on the map table and fixed his attention on his forces. While they were still more than enough to obliterate the new human arrivals, he was adamant of losing any more of his ships, especially the ones carrying the valuable cargo. But, the thought came to him; he still had the remainder of Ban's fleet.

The odds of the battle were eerily similar to the first, his forces greatly outnumbering the humans, though he doubted Ban's fleet would be of much help other than be used as cannon fodder. While a good portion of the enemy fleet consisted of vessels he'd already witnessed in battle, the humans were now fielding their own battle cruisers and dreadnoughts. That wasn't even taking into account the massive three kilometer juggernaut in the center of the enemy formation that was even now practically spewing wave upon wave of lighter craft ranging from small and nimble drones to entire wings of fighters. It was then Toren realized the massive ship wasn't just a command and control ship, but a much larger cousin of the same vessels he had previously faced that carried nothing, but fighters and heavy bombers. He would have to make eliminating that ship his top priority. Still he was confident of the outcome of this bout.

"I want our forces massed into a standard battle line; battle cruisers will mass fire with our dreadnought and begin rapid bombardment of their screening force, followed by targeting of their capital ships. I want our interceptors to stay close to our formation; point defense should be ample to deal with their fighter threat." Toren ordered. He watched the tactical display, noting the ships that were already moving to engage on his order.

"Sir, what of Ban's fleet?" a slaver asked.

A smug grin plastered itself on Toren's face. "Have the good admiral witness the coming battle, so he can see how a _real_ commander leads a fleet into battle."

For a split second the bridge became deathly quiet, too fast for Toren to notice the slight hesitation in his crew. It was no secret of the love-lost between the two leaders, but to question Toren would guarantee great risk to one's own personal health. Despite knowing it was not wise to antagonize the currently erstwhile Hegemony admiral, the ensign nonetheless complied. "As you wish, sir."

Toren turned his attention back to the map table, watching the fleets maneuver in the void, his own forces lining up their mass accelerators against the human threat. Formations of enemy spacecraft were bearing down on his position, his opponent seeming to have limitless supply of them like an angry hill of stinging insects. He smiled as he felt the _Cursed Soul_ vibrate, sending the first round down range along with a ripple of fire from his battle cruisers. He watched the rounds tear through space, each one moving at a hundredth at the speed of light and striking with at least 90 kilotons of force and blasting a hole in the human's formation. Contently, Toren watched as the human support craft were hit by the massed volley and torn to shreds. He ignored the fighters assaulting his fleet. They were mere pests for his own interceptors and point defenses to deal with.

* * *

 _ **SSV Tesla**_

 **Super Carrier**

 **Command Deck**

"Dewa, order all vessels to disperse!" Spencer commanded, the petty officer frantically issuing the orders amidst the chaos.

"Weapons discharged!"Mikhailovich snarled. "Mass Accelerator slugs and torpedoes inbound!"

"Raise shields to full power, and have all available ships prepare to return fire!" Spencer turned towards the weapons console. "I want Disruptor torpedoes and Seeker rockets targeting their engines. Follow up with an active ECM screen. All hands brace for impact…"

"They're not coming at us!" Lieutenant Yeol shouted. "They're shooting at our screen!"

Spencer changed tactics immediately, the altered scenario shifting the numbers in his head with little strain. The battle was barely beginning with a simple enough start. "Stratus, order our frigates and corvettes to fall back and have our heavy hitters move forward!" Spencer ordered. "I want our electronic countermeasures online immediately!"

Within seconds, the holographic algorithm of the _Tesla's_ AI displayed the avatar of a blue cube. "Affirmative admiral. Reorienting ships to specifications and alternating combat priorities."

However, the moment the batarian vessels had fired, three corvettes and four frigates were condemned to death as the ordnance struck their prows and hulls. The first few rounds went straight through the _SSV Mississippi's_ hull, eviscerating her completely, rending the frame in half. The _Mississippi_ bucked like a startled animal, venting atmosphere as explosions consumed the ship.

A few others struck the _Vienna_ and _El Alamein_ right in their engines, penetrating their hulls and eezo cores while nicking the fuel cells. The highly volatile mixture of eezo and liquid fuel coexisted for a mili-second before combusting in a chain reaction. They were consumed by the burning angry beast of fire, flaring only briefly in the cold vacuum, but enough to disintegrate the ships' hulls and their crew. Fortunately, the rest of the fusillade were either dodged or intercepted by GARDIAN laser defenses. The Alliance screening fleet quickly broke formation, maneuvering hard to avoid any further hits.

"Redirect ship to heading zero three zero, declination one eight zero," Spencer ordered. "Arm Kinetic pods one through twenty and give me a firing solution."

"Aye aye," the navigation and weapon officers snapped in response. They furiously tapped away on their keyboards, precious seconds ticking by.

"Pods one through twenty armed. Firing solution ready, sir." Mikhailovich reported.

"Fire."

"Pods one through twenty firing!"

The _Tesla_ maintained an impressive one hundred and twenty pods, each loaded with twenty high-explosive kinetic rods. The ship, massive as it was, lurched as four hundred kinetic rods screamed out of its ports. On screen huge plumes of missile exhaust traced a path from the Tesla to the enemy ships. Those were quickly followed by hundreds more as the entire fleet opened up. Repeated volleys followed soon after, targeting the larger battle cruisers and anything else that might be a threat.

The batarians responded, defending with GARDIAN lasers. Red flashes flicked off of the hull of their ships, the linear arcs emitting a bright glow in the darkness of space. The larger ships held their positions and returned fire while the smaller ones maneuvered out of the danger zone. A few kinetic rods altered their trajectory to track the maneuvering ships, but half of their number streaked past the target, clean missies. The others impacted. Fire covered the skin of the alien ships. Three were immediately damaged with only two being destroyed, their kinetic barriers absorbing much of the blast.

The batarians ships started to rotate slowly in space – although their momentum continued to carry them on their inbound trajectory toward the Alliance formation. But it was a hazard affair; instead of moving as a single powerful formation, the batarians ships were somewhat disorganized. The individual flotillas attempted to reform themselves into some sort of formation on the fly, but more than a few dozen ships found themselves changing courses multiple times due to new salvos being launched by the Alliance fleet. Still, motes of light, indicating charging Mass Accelerators collected along the alien ships' lateral lines.

"Time until those slugs impact the fleet?" Spencer asked Yeol.

"Twenty two seconds, sir. Our own heavy ships are moving into formation to respond with their own guns."

The starboard screen showed the Alliance battleships and battle cruisers moving into position to launch their own opening salvo. Despite the immense damage both classes of vessels could absorb, there were only ten of them in total, and they simply were not enough to take on thirteen battle cruisers and nearly thirty cruisers.

It wasn't long before the batarian salvo impacted several Alliance ships, weakening their barriers and eating away at their ablative armor. Two light cruisers took the brunt of the attack, their hulls shattering like glass. They were unable to withstand the force of the three slugs fired by the batarian's dreadnought. Spencer realized he would have to take that ship out, but it was out of range from every ship's main cannon save for the _McKinley's_ of course. Noticing a shot from the _McKinley_ claiming an unfortunate target, he was struck with an idea.

"Dewa, have the _McKinley_ alternate its fire between the batarian's battle cruisers and dreadnought."

The petty officer gave a nod, disseminating his orders to the Alliance dreadnought. Within fifteen seconds of the order being broadcasted, the _McKinley_ switched its targets and engaged in a long range duel with the batarian flagship. Thanks to a small flotilla of frigates to provide ECM protection, the admiral didn't have to worry about the enemy scoring hits.

' _Good that will keep that ship of our backs for a while,'_ Spencer thought. He returned his attention to his fleet, watching as they immersed themselves in the heavy fighting that enveloped the void.

"Ensign Cruz, take us out of the skirmish line and have the carrier group deploy third wave of fighters." Spencer ordered.

"Yes, admiral." The ensign's fingers swooped along the board, tapping a command sequence almost faster than the eye could follow.

The fleet began to move to engage the batarian vanguard. Five squadrons, each centered on a battle cruiser with five destroyers as their escorts, charged forward. Alliance cruisers moved in behind them, firing suppressive salvos to keep the enemy off balanced while the strike force closed in. The Alliance frigates quickly formed up to screen the fleet once again with both their weapons and ECM networks. The fleet's fighter arm, over two hundred in number, moved with the screening force to provide an immediate reserve. Finally, the fleet's three carriers and single dreadnought followed the squadrons from the rear alongside their corvette escorts, making sure to keep out of the enemy's line of fire. The small number of raloi ships attached to fleet remained at the rear to protect the few auxiliary craft available. The majority of repair ships and mobile hospital stations were holding position on the other side of the Relay with the rest of the raloi battle group. The reason being Spencer didn't want them to become easy targets, especially since they would be vital in the relief effort on the ground.

The vacuum between the two opposing forces filled with hundred lines of fire and smoldering metal seemed to tear through the fabric of space. Like gods clashing for dominance, the fleets met each other in combat. As they approached the seventy thousand kilometers, the Alliance heavy hitters unleashed their barrage. There were no intricate maneuvers to be seen only a slug fest. A web of trajectories traced the darkness of space as the two sides were exchanging fire like a line of Redcoats and colonial militia in the Revolutionary War, tactics that could best be described as bloody…or suicidal. Alliance battle ships fired their dual mass accelerators, hammering into the batarian lines. Kinetic barriers flickered before overloading under the incredibly light, yet powerful projectiles as they rammed into the formation; several batarian ships were spun out of position by the impact alone.

However, the batarians were now beginning to regroup and responded to the Alliance formation. The minutes ticked by as the _Tesla's_ bridge crew watched the batarians fleet get closer and closer. With every hundred kilometers closed, the batarians tightened their formation to cut off any escape route. Their frigates and light cruisers activated their FTL drives, propelling them to the Alliance's flanks. The admiral could see that the enemy was attempting a 3-D envelopment maneuver; a fairly basic stream-rolling tactic based on surrounding the enemy while bringing the maximum number of guns upon them. In addition, the batarians were holding a massive formation of interceptors near their fleet, baiting the Alliance fighters into another duel on their home-turf.

Spencer grinned. Though simplistic, the tactic wouldn't work for two reasons. First, the tonnage disparity between the two fleets gave the Alliance the advantage and second the envelopment would only work if the target remained in a fixed position, something Spencer had no intention of doing.

"Guns?" Spencer called out. "Enemy status?"

"Multiple hits on batarians fleet, sir," Mikhailovich replied. "Salvo two firing…now."

The entire human fleet opened fire with their mass accelerators. A handful of the shots from the cruisers were clean misses. Spencer winced; each mass accelerator slug off-trajectory meant one more enemy ship would survive to return fire. The vast majority, however, slammed into the shielded alien vessels. The lead batarian battle cruiser took a direct hit form a heavy round, sending the alien ship into a lurching port spin.

Spencer saw the battle cruiser's engines flare as her pilot struggled to regain control-just as a second mass accelerator round struck the ship's opposite side. For an instant, the batarian vessel shuddered, held position, and then _flexed_ as the hull stresses became too great. The battle cruiser disintegrated and scattered debris in a wide-arc.

A second batarian ship, a cruiser, shuddered under the impact of multiple mass accelerator rounds. One round from a heavy battle cruiser went right through the ship to starboard and rammed the next cruiser in the enemy formation. Sparks and small explosions flared from the ships as a gray-white plume of vented atmosphere exploded into space. The ships' running lights flickered, and then dimmed as the pair of dead spacecraft-locked in a deadly embrace-tumbled into the heart of the batarian line. A moment later, the wrecked ships hit a batarian frigate and they exploded sending tendrils of debris through space. A dozen of their ships vented atmosphere and fires flicked within their hulls.

It was then Alliance fighters finally closed to optimal range, meeting their batarian counterparts in a head on attack run. The heavy Slamhounds, Stingers, Tridents, and Hailstorms broke their formations and went after their assigned targets. What had once been solely a capital-ship fire exchange became a swarming mass. Dots of light, starlight glinting off mass accelerated rounds, rattled in a bewildering number of directions. Missiles, slower than their more simplistic kin, adjusted their courses, homing in on their marks with single-minded intensity.

With the Alliance fighters occupied engaging enemy interceptors, the batarians deployed their fighter/bombers. Pouring out from their hangars in swarms, the batarian fighters commenced their strikes. Over two hundred in number closed in on the Alliance fleet, unleashing a barrage of Disruptor Torpedoes at close range. Since these weapons were cold launched, having to basically drift out of their firing tubes before activating, their range was greatly reduced. With the speed of a fighter, however, the torpedoes had a smaller distance to cover and if used in large numbers proved to be lethal. Once they fire their munitions, the batarians fighters immediately peeled away in perfect synchronicity, returning to their ships to rearm. Only handfuls were shot down by Alliance defenses, a greater majority being destroyed by Tridents and Hailstorms.

"Incoming projectiles! Enemy fighters are breaking off!" Yeol shouted, tracking the vast amount of projectiles heading towards them.

"Activate defenses now!" Spencer shouted.

With immediate urgency GARDIAN lasers sprang to life, targeting the incoming torpedoes while other defenses attempted to destroy the fleeing enemy fighters. The multilayered defenses onboard Alliance vessels had the phenomenal effect of greatly reducing the overall damage the fleet would have suffered, rendering the batarian barrage nearly null. A few still managed to graze a few ships, but their kinetic barriers remained strong.

The batarians retaliated with force, a great beam of blue light being casted from their lines and straight towards the Alliance. The fore view screen of the _Tesla_ was now filled with incoming weapons fire. GARDIAN lasers once again sprang to life, trying to swat the incoming ordnance away from crucial areas. Alliance frigates deployed their ECMs to amplify the effect, preventing additional target-locks on the human fleet. Unfortunately, the ECM screen was not large enough to save four Alliance cruisers from destruction. The batarian's sole dreadnought claimed an additional two cruisers that had been severely damaged and a destroyer that had sacrificed itself to save a third.

"All ships: break and attack!" Spencer bellowed. "Pick your targets and fire at will. Take as many of these bastards out as you can! Weapons free."

The _Tesla_ moved away at a near-right angle from the protective formation guided by a small corvette escort. The other Alliance ships scattered across all vectors. One Alliance destroyer, the _Sphinx_ , accelerated straight towards the batarian line with the intent of distracting them.

As the Alliance ships scattered, their salvo reached the batarians ships. The admiral's firing solutions had prioritized the enemy frigates, hoping to bleed out their numbers. Their barriers sparkled, rippled, and then flickered out of existence. Frigates shattered under the impact, armor plates disintegrating as if they were made from ice. Holes ripped through their bulkheads, exposing everything inside to the cold, uncaring vacuum. Wrecked spacecraft drifted lazily through the battle area. GARDIAN lasers, Disruptor torpedoes, Javelin missiles, Kinetic rods and every other type of ordnance were fired as every ship accelerated to one-another.

Admiral Spencer watched the battle rage through the starboard camera. The _Nile_ took a salvo of Disruptor torpedoes and her foredecks burned. One batarian ship collided with the Alliance destroyer, the _Medusa,_ ramming the superstructures of the two craft together until both ships opened fire at point-blank _Medusa_ was turned into a nuclear fire that engulfed the batarian cruiser. Both ships faded from the tactical display.

As that occurred, a flotilla of batarian frigates had moved as one towards the _Telsa_ , using their FTL drives to quickly cross the vast distance. Their lateral lines warmed before releasing a salvo of torpedoes and Mass Accelerator rounds against the super carrier. They also appeared to be targeting the few auxiliary vessels at the rear, which were practically defenseless. The raloi ships in charge of guarding those vessels were unfortunately pre-occupied with a squadron of enemy cruises on their left flank, leaving the auxiliaries completely vulnerable. To compensate for their smaller number, the enemy frigates were being escorted by seventy interceptors and about a hundred fighters. The _Tesla's_ escort, having no other option, moved in to engage the enemy frigates; firing off their laser cannons at full power.

Bright violet lances of light filled the void between his corvettes and the alien frigates, forcing their attention to the combat craft rather than the defenseless auxiliaries. Spencer turned to face the more pressing engagement, and felt his ship give the faintest of shudders as Harpoon missiles were fired, sending a salvo towards each alien frigate.

He glanced at the tactical display and saw that the corvettes weren't doing so well. Their rods hadn't cracked the batarian's point defenses and their torpedoes were being intercepted. The corvettes were then forced to fire their laser cannons at close range, greatly exposing themselves to enemy fire. While kinetic barriers could not deflect energy weaponry, the ablative armor was designed to boil away and negate the full effect of DEW, but the Alliance corvettes' laser cannons wielded much more power than simple GARDIAN lasers.

The corvettes' beams collided with the enemy frigates' armor, boiling any material strapped onto the hull. Their fire carved clean into the sides of two frigates, completely making their hull glow and bubble before the ships spontaneously combusted in flames. It appeared as if the corvettes managed to strike a critical hit as the ships were effectively destroyed.

Batarian fighters then targeted the corvettes, launching torpedoes and missiles. The munitions slammed against each corvette's barriers, draining them to a significant margin but still managing to hold. Their defenses easily downed two squadrons in retribution. Despite having early success and calming two kills, the Alliance corvettes were beginning to drop like flies.

One of the corvettes exploded as a batarian frigate fired a mass accelerator round into its hull at point black range. The corvette's barriers had been knocked down somehow. The ship had tried to maneuver and avoid fire…but it had presented itself as a perfect target, exposing her prow to the other batarian frigate's torpedo salvo. Another had been struck by main cannon fire; her barriers and armor too weak to prevent the ship from detonating.

Ominously, two particularly large concentrations of enemy cruisers were forming up on both flanks of the Alliance fleet. The combined cruiser and frigate formations were continuing to become a larger threat. Already Spencer had lost three cruisers and another eight frigates to the flanking enemy.

Before he could deal with them, Spencer had directed his attention to the more immediate threat. The admiral recalled the two remaining corvettes, unwilling to sacrifice them in vain. His ship then began deploying hundreds of UCAAV drones and a few squadrons of fighters and bombers. Immediately he set up them upon the attacking the remaining frigates, turning them from the hunters to the hunted. A good number of the drones were quickly dispatched by GARDIAN and point defenses, but they allowed the Tridents and Xians to accelerate undisturbed. As the smaller craft engaged in dog fights, the _Telsa_ began realigning itself to meet the two frigates head-on.

Despite evidence to the contrary, the batarians still continued to believe that the _Tesla_ was defenseless and a perfect prey. They fired off two shots from their main cannons, their slugs accelerating to the large ship. A small salvo of torpedoes followed soon after as a precaution, however the result was not expected.

The _Tesla_ amazingly reoriented itself a full 90 degrees, a maneuver never before having been seen. The large ship managed to dodge the torpedoes, but the two slugs managed reached their target. Unbeknownst to the batarians, the _Telsa_ did not have kinetic barriers, instead wielding something much better and stronger, shields; a blue field briefly flickering off the ship before once again becoming invisible. Panicked, the frigates continued to fire on upon the large ship while a few squadrons of their fighters began conducting bombing runs.

Admiral Spencer then played his next trick. All over the ship, a hundred beams of light began to flare that seemed to be infinite. Broadside guns mixed with point defense turrets glowed in the empty void before being unleashed. The admiral then deployed a sixth of his ship's own Interceptor missiles, small self-propelled precision guided munitions employed extensively by the JSF. The large number of Interceptor missiles soon cut a large swath through the enemy's fighters, eliminating them almost completely while the rest continued onwards towards the pair of frigates. Their barriers flared in defiance, saving the two ships from obliteration, however this was not Spencer's intent nor was this meant to be the final strike.

Spencer held no illusions that the Interceptor missiles, meant for fighters and bombers, would do any damage. In fact he was surprised when they actually managed to significantly weaken the batarians' kinetic barriers, but he would not curse the good stroke of luck. As the frigates struggled to regain cohesion, large hangar doors soon began opening from the _Telsa_ , exposing her, but at the same time unleashing its trump card.

Emerging from the large beast's bowels were eight ships in total, five corvettes and three frigates, each flourishing with destructive weaponry ready to be fired. The _SSV Tesla's_ personal complement of ships had joined the battle, fury igniting at the barrels of their cannons. The batarian vessels scattered like flies in both fear and shock, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before them. Shocked because they had just witness an event deemed impossible by the laws of physics as much as stopping time was. Fearful because as they witnessed the impossible occur, they realized with dread that it was the last thing they would ever see. Their assumptions were proven correct when ten ultra-violet lasers and three slugs erupted from the Alliance ships. Such firepower could be considered overkill, but anything that dared touch a carrier always had to deal with the wrath of its personal escorts. An enormous fireball engulfed the two batarian ships, more due to the firepower igniting upon their hulls rather than their actual detonation. As the blast cleared, hardly any debris was left behind, a sign that the ordnance did its job.

He checked the status of the raloi ships, relieved that they managed to hold the enemy cruiser squadron and were converging on the auxiliaries. With the threat dealt with, the super carrier began to reorient itself to its former position. Spencer immediately switched his attention to the ships that had continued to flank his own, never even having the luxury of taking a moment's breath.

The admiral turned to his aides. "Split the fleet into three attack formations. The carrier group will launch against the center force with spacecraft and battleships providing the bulk of the firepower. Have the destroyer squadrons under Dresher move in to provide support for the cruiser taskforce on our starboard side. The rest of the fleet will engage the enemies forming on our portside." The strategy was bold and risky. He would basically be mirroring the enemy's envelopment formation, meeting him on all three points and trying to hold off the beast. As the aides disseminated the admiral's order, Spencer looked at his cards that had yet to be played.

For now, he could do little but watch his fleet split off to engage the two batarian formations on his flanks. The _Telsa,_ along with the fleet's two other carriers, opened fire with missile batteries and Disruptor torpedoes. The distance between both fleets kept the Alliance munitions from doing any damage, instead being easily intercepted by GARDIAN lasers. He nodded, approvingly; he'd expected this and welcomed it; the more distraction the better. The batarians were arrogantly using their defenses to intercept rather weak and avoidable ordnance, foolishly degrading the accuracy of their defenses as they continued to overheat.

Spencer checked his board, bringing up the division surging to the _Tesla's_ starboard flank. Under the torrent of torpedoes and missiles heavily occupying the point defenses of the batarian frigates, Alliance destroyer squadrons quickly advanced in a wedge formation and began laying an abysmal quantity of firepower on the batarians. Their dual Mass Accelerators allowed them to increase their rate-of-fire beyond standard safeties, maximizing their effectiveness despite their small numbers. Their combined fire began to crush the individual pickets while three squadrons of Alliance vessels, consisting of three battle cruisers and six cruisers, closed in to engage the batarian's heavier vessels.

He sighed in mild relief; no major issues had suddenly blocked everything … so far. Spencer frowned as the board showed what was happening on the other flank. Meanwhile the portside formation seemed to have finally made it through the hail of enemy fire at the cost of seven frigates and five destroyers. Four cruisers had been forced to fall back due to heavy damage and were ordered to rendezvous with the Repair and Retrofit vessels at the rear. While field repairs were risky, the enemy would have to get through a large concentration of Alliance ships before being able to get a clear line of sight on the auxiliary craft. The rest of the attack group clashed with the bulk of the battle cruiser formation, resulting in a furious exchange of fire. Two Alliance destroyers were quickly annihilated, but not before taking three batarian frigates with them to the grave.

With his flanks secure, Spencer turned his attention to the rapidly closing batarian formation in the center. "Dewa, order second wave of bombers and UCAAV drones forward. Have them escorted by some of our fighters."

"Yes, admiral."

Soon the _Tesla's_ three hangar bays opened to reveal one hundred and fifty Xians and Tridents, accompanied by seven hundred UCAAV drones. While small, UCAAVs were incredibly maneuverable, inexpensive, and horribly numerous. With the massive swarm, hostile interceptors would be forced to either engage their multitude and ignore the Xians, or allow their larger ships to be rendered vulnerable to the drones.

While not powerful enough to destroy a corvette, much less anything larger, the drones were incredibly effective in draining the enemy's ordnance, harassing them just enough to cause a distraction, or slowly siphon the enemy's kinetic barriers. Either way, Spencer still gained something in exchange for an easily replaceable robotic machine.

The fleet's two other carriers also deployed their complement, this one a mixed force of JSF and SGB spacecraft. Spencer had originally been reluctant to have two opposite factions confined to a single ship, but figured they would save their aggression for the enemy. Thankfully for him, and quite possibly the entire human race, both forces had indeed set aside their differences in order to concentrate on a mutual enemy. The admiral had played a card, but it would not be his last.

Another card up his sleeve was the elite H.A.W.X squadron leading the Alliance fighters. Originally created as an international response force by the UNAS, the H.A.W.X program soon morphed into a special operations unit within their Air Force. While they officially didn't exist, H.A.W.X pilots were some of humanity's best flyers. Spencer was glad that such an elite unit was spearheading the Alliance fighter strike force. From what he could tell they were wielding a new type of air craft, nearly invisible to the _Tesla's_ sensors, which meant they were even more advance than their trademark F-57 Stingers.

In the case of the worst possible event, the human pilots would greatly reduce the batarian's point defenses enough to for his bombers to swoop in and wreak havoc among the enemy. Spencer didn't like using his fighters as a sacrificial screen, but it was a necessary action. He knew that to give his bombers a chance, he needed to get the batarians point defenses to overheat, or otherwise degrade their ability to shoot down his fleet's attacks.

* * *

 **5** **th** **Fleet, QRF**

 **JSF 24** **th** **TES**

 **Reaper Flight**

Captain David A. Crenshaw operated the experimental Razorback as part of the elite H.A.W.X squadron, and he was more than pleased if he could say so himself. The Razorback had improved titanium nano-composite armor, an internal 25mm cannon with a lower acoustic signature, and even a revolutionary auto-repair and bypass nodes for increased survivability. The high tech-spacecraft was meant to keep its roots as an interceptor, using light armaments, improved durability, and raw speed to blast through or evade enemy strike formations. Their M.O. even made them useable against light combat vessels.

While deployment to Shanxi was highly debated and controversial, President Caldwell finally relented and gave the go-ahead for their deployment. Now, along with his wingmen Casper and Talon, Crenshaw was blasting apart the batarian interceptors. Thankfully for his squadron, batarian ship design philosophy had chosen to believe that anti-fighter missile launchers were not a major option, believing GARDIANs would be enough. Such a belief seemed to postulate that simple Mass Accelerated turrets and light missiles on their inceptors were more than enough to cover the gap.

" _Reaper-lead, we have enemy in our sights,"_ Casper reported.

" _I kind of feel bad for them. They actually think they have a chance,"_ Talon chastised.

"Don't get cocky, Talon. The enemy has the numerical advantage," Crenshaw countered.

" _We'll let's take care of that problem,"_ Talon replied.

"Agreed."

A warning on Crenshaw's panel went off, alerting him to an enemy lock on. He palmed the sound off. "Be advised, I just got a ping on the sensors. Break formation and engage enemy bogeys."

" _Roger that."_ Talon snapped before breaking off. Casper clicked acknowledgement before following in a similar fashion.

Crenshaw flicked on his fighter's electronic countermeasures, obscuring his exact vector and velocity from the enemy's tracking systems. The countermeasures had the added benefit of hiding Reaper Flight's numbers from their enemies, which was good considering they were less than a dozen strong. For armaments, aside from the 25mm cannon, the Razorback also carried one hundred and forty Joint Strike Missiles and another forty-eight All Aspect Missiles. The JSMs were smart missiles capable of defeating all but the best electronic measures and could destroy a bare-bone Slamhound in seven hits. The JSM's were incredibly light, translated into faster traveling speed. Secondary missiles, the AAMs, were multi-purpose munitions to add versatility to the fighter not that they would need it in this scenario.

Crenshaw focused on the enemy fleet ahead; it would not do to engage the enemy while distracted. He gave his orders: "Attention Alliance squadrons, this is Reaper-lead. Hold your current speed and remain behind us until we've delivered our barrage. Standby to engage."

" _Copy Reaper-lead_. _Begin your barrage at your discretion."_

He checked his flight board. "Reaper flight, Mark primary targets for long range missile barrage. Switch auto-cannons to standby; let's make the first run _hurt_."

The Razorback's auto-cannon began to spin, signaling its preparation for fire. Crenshaw locked on the lead batarian interceptor. "This is Reaper-lead, I have missile lock on the lead interceptor."

" _Acknowledged, Reaper-lead, awaiting your signal."_

The batarian interceptors twin mass accelerators heated up, apparently ready as their anti-missile scramblers. They seemed determined to force the humans into one-on-one combat … where the odds were stacked. On the opposite side, the Razorbacks opened up their missile bays and readied to fire.

"Targets locks confirmed. We're in range. Reaper-lead committing. Fox one. Fox three." Crenshaw stated. His Razorback fired off four JSMs and six AAMs. The other eight Razorbacks unleashed their own barrages, launching twenty missiles at the interceptors.

According to the information stolen from batarian hard drives, the batarian Sharads would have immediately opened fire with mass accelerators to shoot down as many missiles as possible … under normal circumstances. This time the JSMs countermeasures rendered their sensors useless by giving off a false reading, as if they were still racked on Reaper flights' weapon bays. The only countermeasures the interceptors could rely on were the organic visual, and attempts to maneuver as best they could. Thirty interceptors opened fire en mass, but managed to strike only a couple of missiles; the rest struck home, tearing into the batarian formation as twin missile volleys claimed ten of the leading interceptors.

The Razorbacks heavy shields easily absorbed the feeble blows of their counterparts and even the long-range GARDIAN lasers from nearby enemy frigates. As both sides entered close range, the nine Razorbacks of Reaper flight pushed their engines to full burn, breaking off from the engagement and attempting circumvent the batarian interceptors while the Alliance Tridents and UCAAV drones surprised the batarians with their proximity, and opened fire.

"All fighters, weapons free." Crenshaw announced over the comm..

The space between the two fighter wings filled with the ejection of both mass altered and rail accelerated rounds, interspersed with the missile exhaust, vapors writhing in sinuous patterns that distracted the eye. The surprised batarians couldn't concentrate their fire well enough to breach the Razorbacks' shields, due partially to the electronic interference, but also to the Trident's Harpoon missiles right after a short barrage 25mm auto-cannon fire weakened their kinetic barriers. The failing shields allowed VI guided projectiles to gut the batarian interceptors, crushing the denuded vessels under their power. The two sides smashed into each other and the battle degenerated into a furball.

Crenshaw was as deep in the fight as he could get. His XA-20 Razorback wheeled about, working the evasion protocols to their very limit, preventing the batarians point defenses from getting a bead on him, and smashing him with fire. The angular fighter moved with a predatory grace, erratically dodging and wheeling like a bird of prey as the veteran pilot twisted his craft around. The melee wasn't something that could be controlled or predicted, and once contact was made, the leading echelon of fighters had torn into their batarians counter-parts with gusto. Even though the pilots of both sides were experienced, the training and technology at Crenshaw's disposal created a huge gap between him and his opponents.

As part of the vanguard, the entirety of Reaper flight had emptied their own Joint Strike Missiles racks, reducing the first-wave of the batarian interceptors to scrap metal. The rest of the alien number were struggling just to survive the face of overwhelming stealth technology being employed by the UNAS pilots; failing miserably on an almost two-to-one scale. Not that Crenshaw had taken the time to actually count the numbers of his opposition. His duty was to cut down the batarian fighter screen coverage and they had accomplished that task spectacularly. Right now, the job of he and his fellow fighters was to mainly draw fire from the batarian point-defense systems. In his opinion, it was a waste of expensive craft and _highly_ trained pilots to use them in simple harassment maneuvers like this.

Crenshaw pulled his fighter around in a sharp turn, firing the craft's internal rotary auto-cannon against a batarians frigate's prow, aiming to perforate the cockpit of the craft. He watched with satisfaction as the armor plating split apart, tearing from the impacts. Unfortunately, there was no venting atmosphere, and the frigate continued to maneuver. Crenshaw snarled and hugged close to the upper hull of the enemy vessel, close enough that had his craft possessed a canopy, he could have reached out and brushed the hull of the enemy ship with his finger tips. He darted within the defilade of the point defenses and rocketed out past the exhaust ports unmolested, deploying his M.O. to damage the vessel as best he could. As explosions began to illuminate the batarian ship's hull the pilot roared away, once more searching for batarian interceptors to engage. He was already a highly experienced Ace, but like any good pilot he knew to never to stray from his assigned task.

* * *

 **5** **th** **Fleet, QRF**

 **SGB 26** **th** **Heavy Bomber Aviation Division**

 **3** **rd** **Combat Wing**

"Well its looks like the North Americans finally decided to get up from their couches." Colonel Denisov remarked. "Looks like it's up to us to do the heavy lifting again."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Captain Dimitri Ivanovich Sokov replied, sitting in the cockpit of his Su-49 Halal. An entire squadron of bombers followed his craft to their targets. Their formation blazed through space, escorted by a full wing of UCAAV drones, a massive quantity far out of proportion of anything he'd ever heard of in history. He knew they wouldn't need them, between the batarian interceptors being heavily distracted and the heavy armor on his Halal, their target couldn't escape. Fortunately, their task was simple: engage any batarian frigate that they could find, destroy if possible. Of course if they came upon anything larger, the SGB pilots would take the liberty to engage them as well.

To that end, he guided his flight in a long arc, attempting to avoid the wild melee that the UNAS and Alliance pilots had gone through. Sokov ran his fingers over the internal controls of the bomber while his backseat pilot searched for targets.

"Alright, I have a force of six batarian frigates moving to flank our fleet. They're moving at maximum thrust. Good enough for target?" Denisov asked with a growl in his words. Sokov gave a thumbs up.

"Aye…let's spool up the squadron, I think we're going to collect our first kills." Denisov stated. Nimble fingers deftly touched the control stick to bring the craft towards the unsuspecting batarian vessels. The communications VI relayed targeting information among the other members of the squadron; without hesitation, each oriented to a particular mark and indicated a readiness to fire.

Sokov smirked. The unchanging course of the batarian frigates indicated they were oblivious to the impending doom; each batarian ship was about to receive a total of two thousand Myriad rockets, two hundred and fifty fired from each bomber. It was a heady sensation, being the man behind the trigger, giving death to the monsters that had destroyed so many lives. It was almost like being a god, pointing a finger and nodding at a lesser servitor. Heady stuff indeed.

Denisov made a few course corrections while Sokov made the necessary adjustments to the rockets. In Sokov's mind, he started a silent countdown after he felt pair of thuds clunked against the bomber's hull, the rockets dropping free from his craft. He pulled back hard on the control stick, moving the heavily armored bomber away from the multiple blips that had no doubt appeared on the batarian sensors.

Heat swelled in his heart, the fierce joy of combat he'd always felt; it would be paid for later, but now it was a sensation of victory, another attack successfully launched. It wasn't just rockets that had fired. Optimized for space combat, the largest nuclear weapons ever developed by man were heading toward the batarian vessels, hidden behind the massive rocket screen, the dozens of plumes of sensor-defeating smoke covering the multiple warheads. In ten seconds the Tzar warheads had crossed the fifteen kilometers separating the launch point to the ships. While the batarian's overwhelmed their GARDIAN lasers, trying to take out the more numerous Myriad rockets, the Tzar warheads approached their target undisturbed; a deadly mistake on behalf of the batarians.

The iconic bright light of the warheads going off soon illuminated the sensors of Denisov's Halal. Combining with the space-borne inferno caused by the other warheads, it created the force force of hundreds of megatons, all pressing against the skin of the batarian frigate. The force was to penetrate the hull plating all the way to the center of the ships, ripping them apart, smashing the entire top deck and rending armor. Internal systems were crushed and two whole decks were blasted opened, exposed to vacuum. The frigate was reduced to scrap in seconds, a lifeless husk of its former glory.

"Positive kill," Sokov deadpanned, expecting nothing less upon seeing the staccato nuclear fireballs and the destruction of six hostile vessels. It was a fact he accepted with good cheer, that his squadron had claimed their first kills. Although each Halal bomber carried only two Tzar warheads, it was more than enough firepower to eradicate plenty of batarian targets. Sokov's eyes soon began checking the local sensor data, searching for more targets before checking for updates from command. Until he was told otherwise, his squadron would continue hunting.

"Good effect on target," Denisov replied. "Third Combat Wing form up on my bomber, we have more targets to find." A series of compliance rang through the bomber's crew headset as they soared in a tight formation.

* * *

 _ **SSV Tesla**_

 **Super Carrier**

 **Command Deck**

A high-definition map showed how the batarians were making obvious attempts to catch the Alliance fleet in a cross-fire, but the Alliance had countered spectacularly. Spencer had reorganized his fleet, which was why eighteen Alliance ships, including all of its battle ships, were now staring down a small flotilla of batarian ships right at the edge of the debris field. As with previous engagements, Alliance frigates were at the very front of the battle line, forming an ECM screen to protect the larger ships.

That being said, there were two big differences between the current battle presenting itself and the previous engagements. One key difference was how the batarian fleet had taken up a formation with nineteen lighter ships protecting heavy cruisers, and the second being their now unusual activity.

"Well it looks like they are learning. That's not a surprise after what we did to them. With enough experience, even a dog would learn not to stick its nose into electrical outlets." Mikhailovich said.

Spencer simply nodded. He didn't like it but it was the case.

The holo-graphic display flared red as it sounded out another warning. "Alert batarian cruisers are firing!" Yeol shouted.

"Turns us towards them, bow first, and fire emergency thrusters!" Spencer shouted at his helmsman. Every ship in the group did the same while activating standard countermeasures, making themselves as difficult a target as possible. It turned out to be unnecessary as the bright lances of mass accelerator slugs were more than a dozen kilometers off their target. Still, it was a lot closer than it had any right to be.

"All center ships this is Admiral Spencer. Concentrate on the batarian screen ships. Stand by for cruising formation update."

The holo-graphic shifted under his command, showing the new formation Spencer had in mind. All the ships were to spread out with the battle ships to maintain a distance of roughly twenty eight kilometers from each other. The new cruising formation was meant to create the maximum overlap between each of the ECM capable ships to increase the number ghost signatures that the batarians would have to filter. The cost was in how the ships' point-defenses would be lacking in mutual support; but that didn't matter for now, considering the range and nature of the incoming fire.

' _This is not going to work forever, it'll only buy us some time.'_ Spencer concluded.

"Targeting solution locked, admiral."

The admiral lifted a single finger. "Fire!"

All eighteen Alliance ships opened fire, sending missiles and mass accelerator rounds towards the batarians lines. The batarian ships immediately turned hard, the extra power from their offline defense turrets giving them a boost. One of the batarian cruisers lit up on sensors as mass accelerator rounds gutted the ship. The remaining ships escaped unscathed, however. Hardly a good kill ratio for the number of rounds fired. The missile barrage also proved rather lackluster as the batarian GARDIAN lasers glowed in the dark expanse, intercepting many of the missiles fired. With the concentrated sensor and point defense density, the remaining batarian ships saw hits on their barriers and even a few onto their hull, but survived to fight again. Left with no other option, the Alliances ships fired again.

As the two line of ships exchanged fire, the batarians second formation began to move in a long arc around their screens to put them at an oblique angle against the Alliance formation. They continued firing their Disruptor torpedoes as they went. Even with the overlapping ECM screen, each shot drew closer and closer until the inevitable happened.

"Alert the _New York_ is hit!" Dewa announced.

The _Berlin_ class battle cruiser took a shot right through her bow, severing the entire front fourth of the ship. Now flaring clearly on everyone's sensors, the _New York_ became an easy target for the batarian frigates as more Disruptor torpedoes proceeded to slicer her into pieces. Escape pods quickly flew out of the _New York's_ hull but it was too late for most of her crew as the battle cruiser split in half with secondary explosions ripping the decks opened.

"Alert S&R corvettes. We can't do anything more to help them now." Spencer said quietly, forcing himself to look away and turn back to the holo-display. As the _New York_ met her end, the majority of the batarian ships began to move themselves closer to the Alliance fleet. They were definitely trying to restrict the Alliance's ability to maneuver while they gained the maximum arc of fire for themselves.

Their enemy had learned well.

He had to reorganize his ships once again. With the ECM blanket and their numbers, they could win in an outright clash with that formation. But the fact that the cost for such a tactical victory would effectively be an operational defeat, caution was the best mind-set.

As one, the Nimitz-class battleships charged straight towards their target with the force of their engines propelling them at top speed faster than an _Everest_ -Class dreadnought. Soon the distance between the two sides quickly closed. Their course took them parallel to the bulk of the batarian firing line, almost tauntingly exposed to their flank. It was this flaw that Spencer hoped to exploit. By deploying most of their screening force to encircle the Alliance ships, the batarians had weakened the line that stood between the battleships. Only a small force of cruisers and a battle cruiser now protected the batarian's lone dreadnought. Of course the additional quantity of open space would have normally given those ships ample time to shoot down any normal attackers crossing the distance, however the Alliance battleships were anything but normal.

The battleships weren't designed for relief efforts, or conveying supplies between colonies, although they could do that in an emergency. Battleships were designed for one purpose and one purpose only: war. They were the offensive punch of the fleet, designed to pound targets into submission with heavy firepower, while having enough armor to withstand the enemy's onslaught. Speed was a distant third consideration. And now these dogs of war were unleashed upon the batarians. Despite mass accelerator fire pounding their hulls, the battle ships refused to return fire. They merely absorbed the punishment that other ships could only dream of enduring. The enemy continued in vain to try and destroy the behemoths, not realizing that such resistance was futile.

As Spencer had hoped, not only had the sudden charge by the five battle ships surprised the batarians, but they had ignorantly transferred even more power to their weapons, ever increasingly overheating their guns. It wouldn't be long before the batarians ships would have to discharge, and while they were vulnerable - the battle ships would strike.

Batarian fighters dashed to intercept the attackers, but Spencer unleashed his own fighters and drones in an attempt to halt the would-be blockers. The only ship Spencer now cared for was that batarian dreadnought and anything between it and his fleet.

As the battleships closed with the exposed section of the batarian line, their formation became fluid as the AI, Stratus, began adjusting each ship's position - constantly re-randomizing the flotilla's ECM configuration. All attempts to get a target lock on the battle ships became far more difficult as they moved in and out the formation.

"Targeting solutions confirmed!" The AI announced.

"Then have them fire already!" Spencer bellowed.

The battleships' main guns flared to life, propelling multiple slugs forward towards the batarians. Like titans of ancient Greek lore, they smashed any ship in their wake. The two kilometer vessels ploughed into a few batarians ships, bringing all traffic to a halt as the Alliance ship simply smashed through the batarians ships. Ten mass accelerated rounds spat out from the battleships accompanied by hundreds of Seeker rockets and Disruptor torpedoes. The lone batarians ships had no chance, almost disintegrating under the barrage. Spencer's battleships had forced an opening in the batarian lines, but the batarians were now rushing to head them off and seal the breach.

"Admiral, six battle cruisers and twelve cruisers are moving towards the battle ships from both sides." Stratus informed.

"Understood. Send the retreat."

Snapping their maneuvering thrusters, the troop of battleships spun on their axis before blasting straight towards the carrier group at an oblique angle. The enemy battle cruisers and cruisers that had been hot on the battle ship's tail suddenly found themselves overshooting their targets, in fact they nearly came close to hitting each other. The sudden distraction and disorientation of the batarians ships allowed the five battle ships to gain forward momentum and allow all non-essential power to be transferred to the engines. The Alliance heavy hitters began doubling back on their original course.

"What is the range of the enemy ships?" Spencer asked.

"Just over a hundred kilometers, sir." Yeol reported.

"Give me a firing solution on the batarians ships. A mix of Harpoon missiles and Disruptor torpedoes."

"Admiral, those missiles aren't going to work. The enemies GARDIAN lasers will shoot them down before they get anywhere near." Mikhailovich argued.

Spencer wasn't deterred. "I don't need them to hit anything, just need to keep those ships off balance for a few more seconds. Launch torpedoes ten seconds after a volley of Harpoons."

"Aye, sir." Mikhailovich replied.

A wave of missiles left the massive ship, inducing it to lurch from the ordnance. As the missiles were almost crawling to meet them, given the range, batarian GARDIANs began shooting the ordnances down with ease. The torpedoes didn't succeed any more than the missiles had. However, they had distracted the batarian ships long enough for his battle ships to make it out the blast radius. An 85 megaton blast radius, to be precise.

It was exactly what he was hoping for. Amidst all the enemy fire, the missiles and mass accelerated rounds, three of his battleships had deployed a Tzar bomb during their retreat. Onboard the warheads, passive sensors scanned the space around them, tracking the targets as they neared ever closer to their destruction.

"Detonate the warheads!" Spencer ordered.

Inside the nuclear weapons, the computers received the detonation command and three massive nuclear explosions flooded the area with radiation and pure blinding heat. Anything within sixty kilometers was instantly vaporized by the destructive bombs. It also flooded the local area with immense radiation, leaving a general EM haze that obscured the five battle ships from any retaliation as they finally reached the carrier group. Spencer sighed. His ships were safe, at least for a while, but they weren't out of the woods yet.

"Stratus, have the ships discharge their heat and vent coolant if they have to."

"Aye sir."

"Update on the fleet, sir. Battle groups on our left and right flanks have held the enemy ships in place. Orders?" Dewa asked.

Spencer smiled. _'Only one play left in the playbook.'_ He readied himself for another charge, this time with his own carriers as well. "Tell them to continue holding the batarians back. If by chance our ships manage to break through the batarian blockade, have them regroup sixty kilometers ahead of us." Spencer turned his channel to the other ships. "All ships, continue weapons free status. Set course for Shanxi, full speed ahead. Loose formation, then close up as we approach." He gave a brief smirk at the irony. He was about to use his enemy's strategy against them.

The powerful engines of the _Telsa_ pushed the super carrier into battle. The ship shuddered as it seemed to be set ablaze, GARDIAN lasers and defense turrets meeting the dozens of torpedoes now flying towards the Alliance formation. The holo-display became littered with new signatures too numerous to count, well beyond human eyes. Already, the shields flared with every GARDIAN laser strike. With the batarian interceptors too busy intercepting the inbound Kinetic rods and Harpoon missiles, the dozens of Alliance bombers finally made their attack run, tearing into the cruisers that had been so critical in guiding the batarian fleet's mass accelerators. With the battle ships at the lead and drawing the most fire, the Alliance fleet weaved through a storm of mass accelerator rounds like a pack of hunting dogs chasing a gazelle.

Even with the inertial dampeners, Spencer could feel every powerful yet precise twist and turn that Stratus was putting the ship through. As big and heavy as the ship was, the AI and pilot were flying her like a competitions space yacht. The emergency thrusters fired again and again, almost tossing Spencer out of his seat several times. And if that was not enough, Stratus was still communicating with her brethren on other Alliance ships. With her sensors, she was helping them process the inbound Disruptor torpedoes' vectors, speeding up their reaction time with her own processor speed to give them a better chance.

"Cruz…?" Spencer muttered with a hint of fear in his voice as he saw forty Disruptor torpedoes barreling straight for the _Tesla_. They were coming in a column one after another. With the ECM, the Tesla slid past the first six while GARDIAN and Point defense turrets took out another nine.

"Don't worry admiral, you are in good hands." The pilot responded with a slight optimistic tone. Spencer would have had more faith if it was Stratus that was flying the ship herself considering her rapid reaction times. He only hoped that Cruz was as half as competent as the AI.

The next thirteen struck into the shields, all but draining away the protective fields. It was the next ten torpedoes that tore into the _Telsa's_ armor. The Ablative armor rippled instantly, sending shockwaves into the hull and tossing crew and equipment into the bulkheads. The remaining torpedoes dispersed as incoming Mass Accelerator rounds from the _SSV Nimitz_ took out the battle cruiser that had fired them, ending the guidance and turning them into a dumb-fire variety.

"The shields are down; the forward power converters are damaged. Kinetic pods one through five are down. Hull breach in section A3 to A5. Emergency response teams are en route." Stratus said as she rolled the ship's damaged section out of the line of fire.

"Seal off those sections. Take us back closer to the formation. We should be through the worst of it by now."

The _Telsa_ drifted back closer to the trailing corvettes, taking cover behind their combined point defense screen. This freed the remaining frigates to fire upon the approaching torpedoes and missiles, crossing the hundreds of the enemy's ordnance with their GARDIAN lasers. Alliance fighters took positions near the frigates, keeping the enemy fighters from attacking them. Since they were too busy taking out the enemy's incoming volleys, the GARDIAN lasers on the Alliance frigates heated up, preventing them from targeting the enemy fighter squadrons.

Alliance bombers took a particularly heavy loss, the enemy's fighters and interceptors both being more maneuverable and faster than them. While bombers carried a heavier payload perfect for targeting enemy vessels, their specialization prevented them from effectively engaging the lighter batarian fighters. It wasn't long before they were called back, leaving only human made fighters and UCAAV drones to hold the line against the batarian spacecraft. Missiles were briefly exchanged between both sides, inflicting a few more losses.

But, battles, even those in space, were rarely a continuous affair. With the batarian attack utterly broken and the Alliance fighters having expended their ordnance, the admiral knew that this battle phase was over. That's not to way that the battle itself was over, not by a long shot. The batarian fleet still held over 300 ships…ah. Witnessing the enemy fleet over Shanxi fleeing; only one thought came to mind.

' _It's finally over.'_

Spencer sunk into his chair, the adrenaline in his system finally releasing its grip on him. After a few moments, Spencer finally turned to taking stock of the situation. He saw that though the _Telsa_ was the worst hit of the carriers, she was not the only one wounded. The _Hawking_ and _King_ had each taken a torpedo to their aft and had one of their engines damaged. The _Shanghai,_ though not hit by torpedoes, had been raked with GARDIAN laser fire and mass accelerator slugs, costing her to lose some kinetic pods and broadside guns. Only the _McKinley_ had escaped relatively unscathed. Still forty six ships had been lost. The batarians however, had not fared nearly as well. The battleships' charge and the subsequent engagements had left fourteen of their ships floating wrecks.

It was as if natural selection had eliminated the overzealous and incompetent officers of the batarian fleet who were stupid enough to attack the Alliance fleet.

As Spencer saw the retreating batarian vessels, he made his decision. "Stratus, reorient our ships into two columns. Our carrier group with a frigate and corvette escort will make way for Shanxi while the rest of the fleet engages the batarians. But first, have all ships target the enemy vessels closest to us. They're retreating which means they can't fire back. Have them concentrate on the dreadnought."

"Affirmative, admiral. Sending target solutions to all ships."

"Sir, I am getting an incoming transmission from the _Nagasaki,_ " Yeol cried.

"Patch them in!"

" _This is Commander Hackett of the_ SSV Nagasaki, _boy are you guys a sight for sore eyes."_

"Commander, it's good to see you in one piece, but I am afraid you are late to the party."

" _We'll manage with the leftovers, orders?"_

"Regroup with Admiral Drescher's ships and assist them in any way you can."

" _Affirmative."_

* * *

 _ **HSS Cursed Soul**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

The pirate fleet was in complete chaos, more than fifty maneuvering on random vectors, barely avoiding collisions with one another. Toren looked at the tactical display with mounting dread. He had lost too many frigates to a series of nuclear explosions. Primitive. Bombs. He knew that the humans made ample use of nuclear weapons, but his point defenses could swat those from space rather handily … but these were something entirely different … a large bomb of incredible power, launched from a _spacecraft_. Toren growled angrily. His dreadnought was firing constantly, discharging a round every two seconds, each one lancing through the distance between the fleets and ripping apart a human craft. It wasn't enough though; their ships were strong enough to withstand more damage than his own.

"Commander, we've lost another ten cruisers and two battle cruisers to the human bombers. They are getting slaughtered." The fleet ops officer reported anxiously. Toren let out a hiss and slammed his fist on the edge of the map table. These damn creatures were cunning and he was against the wall, his fleet couldn't fire much longer, the human ships were stronger than his own, and he had little fighter cover left.

"Commander, the enemy fleet is altering its formation."

Toren looked up and saw lighter craft screening the human dreadnoughts shifting their positions, maneuvering to give the heavy craft a clear opening. Toren felt his guts lurch…the ships were as large as his, but much _much_ thicker. He had no doubt these would be dreadful opponents.

"I want fire on those ships now!" Toren ordered, deadly quiet in the din of the command bridge. The _Cursed Soul_ shuddered as its main cannon spat another omen of death. Toren gained the small satisfaction of seeing another human battle cruiser destroyed by his hand before his ship turned to meet the more dangerous incoming threat.

"Commander, five of our cruisers just went silent and are drifting. Sensors detect external explosions on their hulls and a massive amount of radiation flooding the decks. No life signs." The comm. officer looked horrified at the thought.

Toren looked at the screen himself. He swallowed hard and looked back, ordering the remaining cruisers to open fire with the _Cursed Soul_ on the human dreadnoughts. As he did, the slightly smaller human battle cruisers fired, glowing projectiles cutting through space. Their rounds impacted three separate cruisers, making their kinetic barriers flare for a few moments. Toren looked at the tactical readouts: each cruiser's barriers were gone.

His eyes locked on the human fleet…advancing relentlessly. Then he remembered. _'Ban's fleet, of course!'_

"Someone get me a line to Ban now!" Toren shouted.

Within seconds Toren was connected to Admiral Ban. _"Lieutenant Commander Toren, how nice to see you. What appears to be the problem?"_ The senior batarian appeared as calm as if nothing of significant importance had happen or was happening.

"The problem!?" Toren shouted, full fury in his eyes. "The _problem_ is that we're being beaten back and you've yet to make yourself useful."

" _I would like to remind you that thus far I've been busy conducting evacuations of the planet to prepare for our withdrawal."_ Ban reminded the batarian. His tone made it clear he did not take too kindly to being yelled at, especially by someone of lower rank … and competence.

"Hovadina, you have over three hundred vessels and I order you to send reinforcements!" Toren screeched, ignoring the veiled threat from Ban, or possibly missing it altogether.

" _Those three hundred are all that remain of the four hundred I originally had, and whose losses are solely your fault."_ The admiral growled.

Toren was completely baffled at the sheer disrespect from Ban. The admiral may be one of the Hegemony's best naval officers, but Toren believe he had rightly proven himself during the war multiple times. "How dare you-"

The Admiral's face turned furious, a cold fury that eclipsed any mere _emotional_ expression of anger. _"No how_ dare you _! How dare you cost me a of my hundred ships, how dare you neglect to conduct reconnaissance on this species before attacking them, and how_ dare _you be incompetent enough to allow a measly fleet best your own, especially after receiving reinforcements above and beyond your competence,"_ Ban barked. The man was far more terrifying than any demon in that instance, his fury capable of shattering weaker men. " _So_ no _Lieutenant Commander, I will not be following your orders nor will I save you this time."_

Rage. Complete undeterred rage was plastered over Toren's face. "I will not stand for this INSUBORDINATION BAN! The Hegemony will know of your betrayal!" He bellowed, repeatedly slamming his fists on his own terminal. The scene was more akin to a tantrum than anything else.

" _No I don't believe they will."_ The anger had vanished from Ban's face, leaving only a smug satisfaction, mingled with something that looked like … regret?

Before Toren could question the admiral, a series of large explosions illuminated the space all around him. Many ships, both his and the humans, were caught in the massive blast. The combatants of both sides saw their sensors overwhelmed by a series of radiation bursts emanating from an unknown source. The closest ships to the blasts were torn apart on an atomic level, while the rest found their systems disabled by the massive overload, forcing them to restart their main systems. Some ships were outright crippled and left venting atmosphere, quickly suffocating their crews. It was then Toren realized what had occurred. He hadn't remembered the minefield set up during the invasion, a minefield set in place by – Admiral Ban. Unbeknownst to him, both the enemy and his own ships were located _in_ that dense minefield … an anti-matter minefield.

However, the situation merely got worse.

"Sir, the enemy's dreadnoughts have been largely unaffected. They're targeting us!"

Fear gripping his heart, Toren started at the holo-screen, watching as the remaining functioning human ships advanced upon his. Even amidst the storm of shouts and yells of junior officers, the main guns of the human ships glowed blue and fired with unnerving silence. The vacuum of space took away the banshee wail of priming and the thunderclap of discharge. The effects were no less devastating. Ten Mass Accelerator rounds bombarded the _Cursed Soul,_ punching multiple holes into her hull and completely eviscerating it.

As the crew stumbled over each other in a vain attempt to escape death, Toren stood on the bridge, utterly wondering how it had all come down to this.

He knew exactly who to blame for this failure, for such an ignoble death.

"BAAAAAAANNNN!" Toren bellowed, cursing the batarian to the deepest pits of hell. Merely seconds later he was engulfed in a massive blast that covered the entire bridge before the _Cursed Soul_ went up in flames. The former crew soon lived up to the ship's name; they were completely vaporized with no chance of a proper funeral or records being recovered, just hundreds of cursed souls being erased from existence.

* * *

 **Trivia:**

1\. If you remembered during the first ground battle, Ban had secretly ordered his ships to lay mines in front of the Relay the Alliance and Confederacy had used to escape and we now see his plans coming to fruition.

2\. For those H.A.W.X fans out there rejoice! We get to see Reaper-flight in the fight along with their new experimental Razorbacks. Let's now forget the SGB's own Sokov and Denisov either, two major in H.A.W.X 2.

3\. The extra slaver fleet Toren has is due to Ban. It's the same slaver fleet Ban requested in Ch.14 during the SGB battle. They gave the Alliance trouble, but they were no match for the superior foe.

4\. The _Tesla_ reorienting 90 degrees was inspired by the crazy maneuvers done in Halo. It's exactly something Captain Keyes would do himself.

5\. We get to see Hackett once again, though merely in a cameo appearance unfortunately.

6\. The first naval battle is referenced numerous times, one less known example would be the destruction of Shanxi's comm. buoys, which is one reason why the Alliance was unable to receive proper intel.


	17. Chapter 17 - Iron ships, Iron men

1-9-2157 2157 hours (Alliance standard calendar)

 _ **HWS Peace Keeper**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

Admiral Adras Servius stood on the command bridge of the dreadnought _Peace Keeper_ and nodded to himself. Like any proud turian, his stance was graceful, yet strong, radiating an atmosphere of patience and authority. He had his talons crossed behind his back, watching the scene beyond calmly, quietly, simply waiting patiently for the journey to end… or begin as it were.

At his command were over half a million soldiers, and two hundred combat star ships - all centered around his dreadnought. His purpose: a mandate from the Hierarchy, to deal with the startling situation that had arisen. While it had taken longer than he had expected to assemble the forces necessary for the punitive expedition, the quality of his forces were well worth the wait. All were combat trained from numerous peacekeeping operations throughout Citadel space. He was confident in the professionalism of his troops, and all of them understood the importance of this endeavor. It was a pleasure to have such an experienced fighting force at his talons, though he wasn't pleased about the mission he'd been given, nor was he pleased at how he had to take the trip.

The disappearance of the Hegemony's 16th fleet had sparked great concern among many Hierarchy military leaders, all of them debating behind closed doors. Servius had been surprised when he learned the public had not, and would not, be informed of the crisis. Such actions were rather unusual, but not unheard of. The Hierarchy had undertaken similar actions in the past, particularly when the safety of the Citadel was at stake – although how a rouge batarian fleet consisted as a threat to the mighty station was beyond him. Great measures had been taken to ensure a cover-story for Servius' expedition. Grudgingly, he had to admit the wisdom in that at least; any leaks or public panic would have greatly undermined this operation.

Prior to the fleet's arrival into the system, Servius had ordered a portion of the corvettes, dedicated to scouting, ahead to conduct reconnaissance for the bulk of the fleet. When the corvette flotillas had arrived to the target system two days ahead of the main fleet, they'd immediately begun broadcasting. While the system was vacant of any activity, his corvettes had reported and confirmed the worst possible scenario: a dormant Relay had been activated. The news had briefly surprised the turians before their quick professionalism had kicked in. Once the intelligence had been relayed, Servius had ordered his corvettes to hide until the rest of the fleet arrived. Nothing had occurred for two days until his corvettes had reported an entire batarian slaver fleet dropping out of FTL, proceeding to the now active Relay, and then having the sheer _audacity_ to use it.

The complete disregard for Council law angered Servius greatly, but he didn't allow his emotions to cloud his judgment. Logically, his corvettes could do nothing to such a fleet, and so he ordered them to stand down and not engage the batarians under any circumstances. Following standard protocol, Servius had informed the Council of the situation and had received orders to follow the batarians across the Relay. These were the previous events that had accumulated into the current scenario: a fleet built to punish, travelling into the unknown, facing the spirits knew what.

' _Probably not Rachni, though,'_ he thought. ' _Batarians are greedy and manipulative, but not stupid. No batarian would risk himself for an uncertain prize._ That _means some resource had been discovered, something great enough to warrant a broaching of the Accords.'_

Servius looked around the command bridge; it was fully staffed in preparation of the drop to real space. The entire fleet was readied for combat, weapons loaded and kinetic barriers fully charged. It was standard doctrine for every turian fleet to be so prepared for combat at a moment's notice. It was this militaristic and disciplined nature that allowed the Hierarchy to push back the krogans during the Rebellions and what had subsequently earned them a seat on the Council.

"Admiral, we'll be arriving at the target system momentarily. All ships are combat ready and are awaiting further orders." The ship's executive officer reported, looking up from the array of communications. _That_ particular officer had stood out among the rest, despite being seated with the others in the amphitheater styled command room; not because of his expertise or clan mark, but rather because of his lineage, and position.

"Very good, Major Victus. Have all stations stand by for possible attack at FTL deceleration." Servius ordered, momentarily turning his head to address the officer.

"Absolutely, admiral." Victus replied. He seemed easily able to ignore the usual circumstances.

Servius had to hold back a smile when he eyed his subordinate. Victus was not only a high ranking officer, but he was also in charge of the ground forces, meaning it was all the more unusual for Victus to be performing the duties of a minor naval ensign.

Servius had found the young man to be an exceptionally strong leader, very popular among his men, and above all else a dedicated turian. Victus wouldn't rest unless there was nothing more he could do to serve the Hierarchy. It was for this commitment that Servius had chosen to overlook the ethics of Victus' tactics, described by a turian general to be clever, but highly unorthodox. In Servius' mind, it was this kind of unpredictability that would allow the Hierarchy to obtain an advantage over the Hegemony in more ways than just numbers and firepower.

As Servius' attention was returned to the empty void, he rubbed the railings of his ship with affection. After four decades of serving with the ship, he had thought of it as part of his family. Multiple officers and crewmembers had come and gone, but he and the _Peace Keeper_ had always remained a pair. The ship was a testament to turian military might, being one of the oldest dreadnoughts in the turian fleet. While the design of the massive ships hadn't changed in centuries, the _Peace Keeper_ was special in his eyes. Despite not having the performance, or countermeasures as those of the salarians and asari, the old reliable dreadnought was unmatched in pure reliability.

Measuring at a length of 1.9km, the _Peace Keeper_ was an oddity in every sense of the word. The length barely reached the minimum required to be classified as a dreadnought, but the ship boasted unusually large thrusters for a vessel of its caliber. It gave it an instinctive advantage in speed and maneuvering over its rivals. The weapon mounts were recessed so deep within the armor that they were protected from everything expect for a direct impact from enemy fire. The other critical aspect of the _Peace Keeper_ was its offensive staying power. While it maintained the classic Mass Accelerator Cannon found on all ships, it was among the first to receive a secondary one as well.

Advances in particle accelerator technology, in terms of power management, acceleration, and insulation, had paved the way for the construction of the Mk. 1 Particle Accelerator Cannon in 2120. Using circular accelerators, protons were continuously accelerated until they reach a sufficient speed with high kinetic energy before being projected out of the cannon onto an unfortunate enemy vessel. The _Peace Keeper_ , then a brand new dreadnought, was selected amongst very few others to wield this potent weapon into battle.

Only sixty dreadnoughts were successfully reconfigured to maintain and operate a secondary cannon, mostly due to budget cuts. Unfortunately, like every other reconfigured dreadnought, the ship's range had to be consequently shortened and two new generators had to be installed to provide the necessary power for its additional weapon. The ship also had to discharge much more frequently than a regular dreadnought, limiting its combat endurance.

While the salarians had managed to address many of these problems, managing to outfit their interceptors with a much less powerful partical cannon as their main weapon, they were still horrifically expensive. As things were, the Hierarchy was more than satisfied with the hardware they had. Still these minor issues didn't take away from the ship's destructive capabilities. In fact the _Peace Keeper_ resembled more of a floating fortress than an actual ship. The sheer amount of heavy armor plating on its hull gave off a menacing sight, especially with the scars of multiple disruptor torpedo impacts on her exterior hull, the marks of victories she had earned.

As the admiral stood and waited, he could feel the slight tension ratcheting up among his bridge crew. The shifting movements, and glances between crewmembers as they waited increased in frequency, eyes glued to the countdown clocks. Servius could sympathize; turians were men of action not slothful creatures like the asari.

"Has the entire fleet signaled their readiness?"

"Yes, admiral. All ships are prepped and ready. Reverting to real space in five…," Came the words from the helmsman. His face was pointed at the countdown clock and was announcing what everyone in the command bridge already knew. But it was procedure, no matter how redundant it was at the moment.

The admiral's thoughts ended as the _HWS Peace Keeper_ dropped out from FTL with the rest of the fleet. As planned, the fleet was in a wedge formation, corvettes and frigates spanning out to form a rear-guard for the fleet while the rest of the ships provided them cover. It was a perfect formation that had been practiced and drilled numerous times. Corvettes and frigates formed up in a defensive half-sphere in front of the heart of the formation, weapons primed to engage any fighters or disruptor torpedoes that might be launched.

Within this screening force, the main bulk of the battle line was organized into a massive damaging force. At its center was the _Peace Keeper_ with a clear line of sight in all directions. Its location allowed the massive 950,000 ton dreadnought to be able to pour heavy long range fire in any direction, easily able to disrupt even the thickest of enemy formations. Around the core of his ship, were the battle cruisers and heavy cruisers. These would provide the bulk of the fleet's firepower.

The battle cruisers weighed in at 430,000 tons each, and were at least a kilometer long. They maintained the classical predatory look turian ships were famous for, with their wings providing additional maneuvering, secondary batteries, and defense emplacements. Along with the massive firepower provided by the battle cruisers, the 139,000 ton heavy cruisers brought their own degree of firepower to the engagement. Their vast ordnance of Disruptor torpedoes and Thanix missiles could easily gut heavier vessels, provided they could close range for them to be effective. They formed up in a defensive sphere as well, prepared to maneuver on targets of opportunity that the admiral identified. It was a formidable strike force, and Servius watched it form in perfect order on the tactical holo-display with extreme pride.

However, despite their immense training no turian could ever be prepared for what was about to unfold. Plunged across over a vast distance, the comparatively small turian fleet dropped out of FTL… and they were met with a shocking sight. Hundreds of vessels loitered in deep reaches of space, viciously tearing each other apart over what appeared to be a garden world. Servius could see the many derelict husks of destroyed vessels, clear signs of the deadly battle raging on. What was more shocking was how one side clearly displayed the classic designs of the Hegemony while the other… the other did not match any known Citadel signatures.

' _Spirits! Just what is going on here!?'_ Inwardly, Servius was absolutely stunned by the scene. From a legal perspective, the number of laws in violation from one quick glance were too numerous to list. Despite his inner struggle, Servius maintained a composed posture, that of a turian admiral, giving no indication of his true feelings.

Before even having to ask, his crew quickly got to work. The holographic display in front of him changed status, updating from the initial scans. With knowledge from years of both intensive study and costly field experience, Servius distilled the situation into a manageable sum. Looking at the situation, it was clear the Hegemony was in violation of countless Citadel conventions, mostly egregious the activation of a dormant Mass Relay and morally, the attempted subjugation of a newly discovered race.

"Sir, we have batarian ships inbound. The rest of the fleet is already selecting out targets," Victus announced.

Servius simply nodded. "Excellent. How long do we have before we are in effective weapons range?"

"Approximately thirty minutes if our calculations are correct." Commander Vyrnnus replied.

"That should be more than enough. Follow standard procedure and hail the batarians ships. Warn them to either lay down their arms and surrender or be destroyed." Servius switched focus, scanning the panels before him. While he easily realized the batarians would have no intention of surrendering, it was Citadel policy to give any criminals a chance to surrender peacefully. As a turian, he was obligated to follow the rules and set an example for his men. Still, just because he had to follow standard procedure didn't mean he couldn't make preparations to deal with the approaching threat.

Victus could only nod in response, knowing the symbolic traits his race was known for. "Sir what of the unknown race?"

"Order all ships to focus fire on the batarian fleet. If they come under fire from the unknowns, they are authorized to return warning shots. If at all possible I want to avoid antagonizing this new race." It was an atypical approach, but one Servius had been able to formulate with an eye to the future.

"But, sir if they open-"

"As far as they know, we – for all intents and purposes – may be allies of the batarians. Keep in mind they wouldn't be a hundred percent wrong with that train of logic," A growl in his voice quieted the room. "While I highly disagree with any rash actions this new race may undertake, the fact remains that they are ignorant of both the Hierarchy and the Council, and by extension its laws. Considering their First Contact was with the Hegemony I cannot fault them for being overly cautious. If we can avoid more bloodshed I wish to do so."

At that precise moment, alarms started ringing.

* * *

 _ **HSS Superiority**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

Admiral Guri' Ban was, unsurprisingly, not having a good day. As he had predicted, the humans had arrived in force. They had emerged with almost the same amount of ships as that idiot Toren, who had finally received his just rewards. While the humans had emerged victorious, they had suffered considerable losses, but still posed a threat, although his mines had performed excellently in slowing them down. Luckily they were more inclined to relief their own kind on their precious colony then pursuing him. Whatever pathetic remains of the pirate fleet were left would give him enough time to escape.

His plan had worked off perfectly, both ridding himself of the unbearable lieutenant commander and delaying the humans long enough for him to mount an escape … or so he had hoped. Unfortunately, the Relay in front of him began powering up without his signal.

Merely minutes earlier, the early warning sensor net had detected a series of emission build-ups typically associated with a ship entering a system-based Relay. Given the high readings, it was clear the numbers of ships was quite large. Ban didn't need to look at his sensors to confirm what his eyes were telling him. His predictions were once again proven correct when a fleet exited through the Relay, the ships showcasing the trade mark designs of the Hierarchy.

Ban growled, this new development would cause ripples in his escape but thankfully he still retained the numerical advantage.

"Admiral! Turian fleet is assuming defensive posture!" Ib-ba reported, verbally announcing all critical information. "They've also issued a warning to surrender or be destroyed."

Ban had to resist rolling his eyes. _'Do those rejects of nature always keep a stick up their arses?'_ Even in sight of the obvious, the turians were insistent on conducting their mission according to the rules of the Council. It was one of the reasons he was able to routinely evade them, using their sense of honor and strict interpretation of rules against them to gain victory in a naval battle, or avoid one altogether. Turians may have held the reputation for being the single most powerful military in the galaxy, but they were incredibly inept at adapting to different scenarios.

"Send our reply with the main gun," Ban answered. True superiority was taken, not surrendered.

Quickly, he analyzed the turian's fleet composition, noting the incredibly low numbers for such a thing. His ship's sensors could only read one dreadnought, giving him the advantage in 2:1 odds. His fleet outnumbered the turian's in all areas, from dreadnoughts all the way down to corvettes. For the moment, Ban was grateful the turians failed to send anymore ships or else the situation would be rather difficult.

He turned to his first officer. "Commander! Order the _Black Diamond_ to take position on our starboard side and match our speed. I don't want the turians robbing us of our advantage in the event the worst comes to pass."

"Yes, sir," Gonu replied. Like Garack and many others loyal to the Hegemony, he'd been evacuated from Shanxi, along with their valuable cargo. Thousands of pirates had been left for dead in many parts of the world, left to fend for themselves against hopeless odds. Such was the price of treason against Ban, and especially the gross incompetence they had shown.

As the officer rapidly transmitted his instructions, Ban allowed himself a glance at the main holo-screen. He saw the turians were quickly forming up in front of the Relay, making a formidable blockade.

His observation was confirmed a moment later. "Sir, the turians are moving into a defensive formation. It seems the birds are finally using their nut-sized brain and realize we have no intention to surrender. Intelligent, for a two-eye."

"It appears so," Ban replied. It seemed even the turians were capable of pleasant surprises. "Fire when ready." That simple phrase was enough to cause yet another battle in an already war-torn region of space. Ban's ship jolted backward, the recoil mitigated by the immense power of the ships thrusters as a slug rushed forward to meet the turian blockade.

The round rammed into the turian formation, cutting through it like a knife. The rest of the fleet opened fire, erupting continuous tides of mass accelerator fire from their cannons as they closed the distance. Rather than maneuver, the lead turian ships took the brunt of their attack, letting their strong barriers soak up much of the damage. Already their main cannons flared, signaling the turians' intent to kill.

Within seconds all turian battle cruisers opened fire, sending a storm of fire towards the batarian fleet. Many forward batarian ships turned hard, using their looser formation to their advantage. One battle cruiser lit up the sensors, multiple slugs from the turian fleet easily dropping her barriers and tearing through her armor. Ban thanked the Pillars, that the rest of his remaining battle cruisers had escaped unscathed. The turian response hardly counted as adequate, given that so many of his own ships had reported no structural damage. The turian missile salvo had also been lackluster at best, with many of his frigates and even a few of his corvettes intercepting the majority with no damage. Even with the lack of concentrated point defenses, many batarian ships had seen their barriers fail to drop to 3/4th of their initial strength.

"Sir, fleet is reporting incoming wolf-packs and fighter squadrons!" An ensign yelled.

Ban glanced to the tac-screen, the onboard VI verifying the ensign's statement. It puzzled him for a moment … then it became clear. _'The turians don't want to destroy or even land hits on my fleet, they were just giving cover.'_ He gritted his teeth, he should have seen through the turian commander's ploy. _'He is skilled. Better leave as quickly as possible.'_

Ban took his command seat, delivering orders as he did so. "Weapons, concentrate all auxiliary power to GARDIAN batteries. Load all tubes with munitions and disburse the payloads along our course. Bring our main gun to full power and lock in as many possible firing solutions as the computers can handle, but do not fire until I give the command."

The _Superiority's_ deck vibrated to life under Ban's feet as his officers sprang to their duties. As they did so, the first turian fighters closed within weapons range of his ship. The _Superiority's_ lateral point defense turrets flared as they began targeting the Armiger fighters while the GARDIAN lasers were held on reserve. It was easier to deal with the fighters, since Ban's fleet had extensively analyzed the weapons, formations, and speed of the human's spacecraft, creating new tactics for dealing with such pests. Such newfound skills would greatly be put to the test against the turians' spacecraft.

Ban watched the fighters approach, keenly interested in how the newly refined fighter defenses would play out. Turians were the best in the business, but his crew had experience on their side.

The blackness of space was illuminated with pickets of light as the first few squadrons of Armigers were quickly blasted into the void. The remaining flights scattered like moths, each trying to slip past his fleet's defensive fire. Ban watched as a turian squadron managed to dive past the defensive barrage, moving underneath his ship to rake her underside. Through a screen, he watched them deploy their missiles in a barrage worthy of their courage. The ship shook as its barriers absorbed much of the damage.

Ban grabbed the arms of his chair to steady himself. "Damage control?"

"Kinetic barriers are at eighty-five percent and holding," Lieutenant Fenra' Ordak said, looking up from her terminal. Unlike most of the crew, she had been a recent transfer to supplement the _Superiority's_ minor losses. "No breaches have been reported and hull integrity is at peak condition."

"That may change soon," Gunnery Officer Darell Maral stated. Like Ordak, he too had been a recent transfer to man the ship's weapons. "The frigates aren't as lightly armed and we have a wolf-pack coming in on an attack run."

"Activate the decoys and fire one missile volley," Ban ordered.

"Aye, sir."

The pack of turian frigates moved in, ascending vertically to avoid the barrage of death being unleashed by both fleets, before nose diving and hitting the batarian fleet from above. The turian ships began to slow as one, their feathered designs resembling graceful and deadly avian predators hovering over prey. It was a sight that made Ban smile to himself; the turians may have been aggressive predators once, but _he_ was the apex predator on the battlefield. Victory was within reach, if he had the strength to grasp it.

Once in range, the frigates began engaging with fast, light mass accelerators, firing in tandem to maintain a constant stream of fire. Disruptor torpedoes were launched from their forward tubes soon after the light mass accelerators, many being intercepted by GARDIAN defenses, but a few managing to slam against the _Superiority's_ hull. A shimmer of orange lighting demonstrated that the batarian dreadnought's barrier had yet to fall. However, other vessels were not as fortunate. The twenty kilotons of firepower from each turian frigate used in combination with hundreds of Disruptor torpedoes obliterated three cruisers, five frigates, and ten corvettes.

In return, the _Superiority's_ defense turrets spat fire while her decoys were activated. Ban could only imagine the look on the turian captains' faces as their targeting solutions were suddenly thrown off. Ban's however maintained a lock. He eyed the tactical VI, watching it as it adjusted the probably trajectory of his payload for the enemy frigates positions. Once satisfied, he gave the order to fire, his eyes not once leaving the display. Like all batarian dreadnoughts, the _Superiority_ maintained twenty pods, each packing a payload of thirty Javelin missiles, on her top decks just for this type of scenario.

Maral jammed the command switch so hard it was possible he had broken it. Throughout the _Superiority's_ deck, a series of dull thumbs vibrated as forty Javelin missiles were launched. The missiles speared through the chaff field, the crew watching in suspense as they neared the four frigates. In seconds, the missiles struck. The first two frigates had been hit near their aft, the concussive payloads disabling their engines. The other two had managed to barrel out of the way, utilizing their defenses and speed to maneuver out of the kill box. The change in vector altered their pursuit patterns though, forcing them to fall back in the chaos engulfing the area, leaving their two brethren behind.

"Flight path is cleared," Ib-ba reported. "Majority of ships continuing to maintain defensive formation, but we are nearing optimal weapons range."

"Sir, enemy is sending another wave of fighters," Gonu reported.

"Divert all weapons power to main cannons and launch our interceptors, I want them to clear those fighters off my screen!" Ban turned to Ordak. "Barrier status?"

"Fully charged and ready to handle incoming munitions, sir!"

"Maral, load all forward launch tubes with Disruptor torpedoes. Have the cruisers do the same." Ban spoke calmly, his hands flicking over the pad provided to him by Gonu. "Give me a firing solution on the nearest enemy ship and prepare for the fleet for a union volley."

The bridge crew worked furiously to get the assigned tasks finished, most notably those dedicated to weapon controls. Ban felt a swell of pride in his chest. Despite the many losses they had suffered, his crew remained strong. It was time to show why they were the scourge of Council space.

"Firing solutions laid in, sir!" Maral reported.

"Sir, all ships are awaiting your order," Gonu stated.

"Execute!"

The _Superiority_ recoiled in force as it spat fire from its forward guns. Even the slug fired from the ship's main gun did the admiral justice, being the first of many, leading a tidal wave of rounds towards the enemy. Torpedoes followed suit, careering through space at a much slower speed. The tsunami of rounds slammed into the turian's lines, their thick defensive formation working against them as they lacked the room to evade. The turian fleet was utterly decimated but far from broken, the lighting on their main cannons providing proof.

"Ib-ba, order all ships to continue course towards the Relay!" Ban realized that many would question his sanity, but he was willing to take a madman's possibility over a sane one's death. He had come this far and was not about to lose.

"Sir, are you sure?" Ib-ba needed to confirm he heard the admiral correctly. Though they were stuck in the worst possible situation with one enemy fleet behind them and another straight ahead, what the admiral desired would cause much casualties.

"More than I have ever been," Ban declared. "Make top speed for course."

"Aye sir."

"Maral, fire another missile spread, but aim at the damaged ships. We need to reduce their numbers quickly! Gonu, prepare the fleet to deploy all our remaining fighters and interceptors!" The admiral kept his voice calm, already in the process of creating a strategy to win the day. Both officers complied, placing immense trust in their leader.

The entire 16th fleet spewed missiles from their pods even as slugs from the turians impacted against their ships' barriers. Ban knew that despite their low number, the turians packed a lot more firepower per ship than his own. He calculated the odds, roughly smashing estimates in place. The best chance for survival depended on quickly closing the distance between both fleets, using his superior numbers to weather the turians before colliding with them head-on. He didn't have the luxury of time to come up with a less draconian tactic. Taking a lesson from his enemy, once his fleet closed the gap Ban would unleash all of his remaining small attack vessels to create a chaotic swarm for his fleet to break through the blockade.

* * *

 _ **HWS Peace Keeper**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

"Sir, batarian dreadnought is firing," Victus warned.

"Have any ships along its projected path get out of there; prepare the entire fleet to return fire!" Servius ordered. He knew what the infamous Hegemony 16th fleet was capable of doing, and it made his mandibles clamp hard. They tightened even further when he saw a heavy slug erupt from the flagship, impacting mere seconds after firing.

Servius obsessively eyed the holo-graphic display, letting his ship's VI filter through the reports to deliver only the most imperative. He took in his losses with controlled anger, hoping the spirits guided the brave souls into the afterlife peacefully. Quickly he ordered his vanguard to retreat under the cover of his heavy cruisers, minimizing the damage already caused. Servius had hoped to quickly destroy or damage one of the batarian's dreadnought to no avail. Such tactic had cost him dearly.

With that in mind he reorganized his fleet, pulling his battle cruisers back to form another wedge formation in front of his own ship. The cruisers advanced, taking responsibility for the battle cruisers' previous positions. Servius held his corvettes back, positioning them along with his remaining frigates. Once the approaching fleet connected with his, he would try the same tactic once more, this time under more chaotic circumstances. In a straight out brawl, as this engagement was quickly turning out to be, the lighter turian vessels held almost no chance of surviving the battle, but if utilized correctly they could cause enough damage to give his heavier ships the opportunity to hold the batarians in this system.

The admiral turned his attention back to the map, sharply eyeing it. He had learned to be quite self-critical over the years and was more than aware of his strengths and weaknesses. Intricate plans were easy for him to conjure, and his sharps skills had normally allowed him to use anything that could give him an advantage. However, while he was more than capable of adapting to changing tactical and operational scenarios, he could never effectively feel the flow of the battle and seize the moment in a devastating manner.

He pivoted his eyes and checked the engagement distance. The enemy was already within effective weapon's range. The batarian fleet was charging forward with improbable velocity, their heavier ships miraculously maintaining an impressive speed. Then, he saw it; they were scrambling to form a line of battle before colliding, a formation that allowed each ship a chance to hit the same target multiple times in one pass. He turned his attention back to the holo-screen and tapped a few locations on the hologram, creating sparse plans of engagement.

Several formations of spacecraft had been deployed from each of his cruisers, launching from hangars built into the belly of the warships. They were prepared to conduct attack runs on the approaching batarian vessels. The heavy Thanix missiles, carried by the Armiger fighters, would be essential in depleting the enemy's strength while the lighter, smaller Astros Interceptors would provide cover.

Proving he'd learned from his past mistake, Servius ordered the fighter squadrons to circle to the right flank, where the debris of many batarians ships would provide cover, moving as far out of the batarians line of fire as possible. His interceptors took a different approach, accelerating hard against the batarian formation directly, hoping to keep them distracted. As Servius watched, the symbols for his interceptor squadrons accelerated through space to meet the paltry numbers that the enemy was sending forward. He nodded his head slightly, and knew the battle was going to bloody.

The fires started small, a blue light trailing a thirty eight kilogram slug launched from the _Peace Keeper_. The fire then grew with the ships that had been inflicted the killing blow, blue lights gathering at the prows of dozens of turian ships before being launched off into the void. But the batarians held strong, glittering orange kinetic barriers protecting them from the fires of war, but they would not hold forever.

In response, the batarians rocketed forward, launching thousands of Javelin missiles, a veritable wall of fire and death. The turians tried to evade, maneuvering out of the cross hairs while GARDIAN lasers erected a brief wall of safety with their red beams. Their GARDIANs may have had superior range, but like most defenses, numbers always overwhelmed them. The wall of fire was too hot for dozens of turian ships, their barriers holding for an instant before fires dotted their many hulls spreading death and destruction. Eight cruisers no longer existed, consumed by great explosions of missiles and blue light of mass accelerator fire, replaced by drifting husks of rapidly cooling metal.

The tactician in Servius admired the batarians' bravery and skill, easily realizing they were anything but common cannon fodder. "Guns, get me the battle cruisers. I want the enemy dead!"

Missiles and cannon rounds flashed forward at his order from his battle cruisers, piercing the depths of space. They were meticulous in their nature, like a horde of ants tearing through a massive predator. Each shot, cyan in color, was insignificant; but like the tiny predators, was more than capable of destruction. Orange lights spread across from the batarians fleet as the barriers on many of their ships finally shattered, leaving them open for attack. The armor looked like it would hold strong, but the strain was too great, leaving five ships completely destroyed with hundreds of small holes dotting the hulls, rapidly venting atmosphere.

Then came the turian fighters, numbering in the low hundreds and meeting the batarian menace head-on. They deployed their own ordnance, following the capital ship barrage with their own potent weapons. Thanix missiles fired off first, followed by two Neutron bombs from each fighter.

Red light arched from many ships of the batarian fleet, a dramatic act of defiance in an attempt to reduce the damage they would receive. As much as seventy percent of the missiles were intercepted, the rest colliding straight into barriers. Only two batarian battle cruisers were left vulnerable to the fist of radiation, heat soon engulfing their entire frames. A few more were outright destroyed, their drives cores overloading from both the damages inflicted and from the immense energies scathing their systems.

The batarians were fanatical in their resolve, firing everything they had in response, light streaking down from their barrels straight at the incoming turians. Two turian battle cruisers were downright split in half, while another five cruisers were rendered impotent, personal vented into space as the ships they once manned drifted in the void.

Dozens of rounds were quickly thrust from the screaming barrels of turian heavy cruisers along with over seventy torpedoes and near a hundred missiles. Their secondary defenses painted bright flashes over their hulls, firing interception rounds at the closest of opponents. In this case, the tight packed formation of the turian cruisers allowed them to use their point defense turrets and GARDIAN lasers in unison, essentially creating a shield to protect the fleet. Normally such a job was left to the frigates, but Servius couldn't fault his men for doing what was right.

Of course the batarians didn't just take the incoming firepower laying down, using whatever means possible to either dodge or reduce the barrage's effectiveness. Still the batarians suffered considerable losses, especially amongst the corvettes and frigates they used as a screening force. This allowed the batarian fleet to move still closer, with drastic results. With their distance from the turian fleet cut in half, the batarian cruisers fired every weapon imaginable unleashing a bright flash that seemed to signify the afterlife itself.

"Activate GARDAIN defenses!" Servius ordered. He hadn't expected those cruisers to be carrying that much ammunition considering their cargo space. The sheer number was overwhelming, and their velocity meant more than enough would be able to get through. The missiles impacted the heavy cruisers breaking through the heavy defenses to smite a few of the battle cruisers. Hulls shook and kinetic barriers shattered upon impact, but the worst damage to his own ship was a slight charring of the plating. Around him, the bridge crew gave and received updates on the fleet's status. Unlike Disruptor torpedoes, Javelin missiles released dark energy upon impact rather than the standard kinetic energy. The devastating magnified warp fields stripped at the kinetic barrier's molecular bonds.

The enemy was ever relentless in their assault. The concentrated fire of four batarian ships slammed into the _Peace Keeper._ Her barriers, designed to withstand this kind of onslaught, held strong even as the next salvo impacted directly above her hull. Not a single centimeter of her ablative armor plating was touched, leaving her perfectly capable to respond with fire of her own.

"Ready the main guns! Maximum acceleration on all engines, turn forty degrees starboard!" Servius shouted. "All ships, weapons free and fire at will!"

The _Peace Keeper_ swung through her turn and began to accelerate starboard and away from the enemy's direct line of fire. A new salvo came roaring in, but the sudden turn caused half the batarian's ordnance to miss. Two rounds still managed to slam into her barriers, but again failed to penetrate.

Return fire from the turian fleet reached out toward the batarian formation, mass accelerator slugs scattering over several targets and scoring multiple hits on the batarian ships. The turians' fire increased in effectiveness as they shifted their attention to the enemy's cruisers. Servius saw debris spin away as mass accelerated slugs tore into the hulls of multiple ships, but the entire batarian fleet appeared to be accelerating, almost as if ...

 _'Spirit, don't tell me.'_ Servius checked his tactical data, and his worst nightmares were realized. They weren't just interested in bypassing the blockade; they were going to ram it!

"Adjust fire! Engage cruisers and frigates first!" Suicidal as it seemed, the batarians were about to literally ram straight through the turian fleet. "Hold the line, we must cut them off!"

Turian Armigers swept in, trying to disable the enemy vessels by destroying sensors and engines, but the batarian interceptors and GARDIAN lasers were too much. Nearly half of the second wave was annihilated in mere minutes. Sighing, Servius ordered them to fall back; another assault would do little to stop the oncoming fleet. It was here his formation would either hold or break.

On a one to one ratio, turian ships were much better armed and armored then their batarian counterparts. But while Servius's vessels had the advantage in firepower individually, it did not make up for the fact that as a group, the batarians clearly had the edge. No matter where he chose to concentrate his fire he would have to accept the possibility that at least a few dozen or even a hundred of the batarian ships would be able to escape the system.

Mass accelerator fire flashed back and forth between the two formations. The distance was closing rapidly and the batarian fire was becoming more effective as they scored hit after hit on the turian fleet. They were methodical and ruthless, concentrating their fire on the most damaged ships before switching targets.

And then a large explosion shook the _Peace Keeper_ to its core.

"Spirits! What was that?" Servius demanded.

"Sir, two cruisers on our starboard have been destroyed! Kinetic barriers are holding at sixty percent and recharging," Victus reported.

Servius mentally felt a howl of rage before fighting it down. _'May they find peace in the afterlife.'_

"Sir, the enemy's dreadnoughts are targeting our battle cruisers! They're located in the center, none of our ships can get an accurate shot at them," Vyrnnus shouted.

Servius glanced at the display, witnessing the two batarian dreadnoughts burning thrusters and firing mass accelerators. Both of the most-recently fired shots rammed right next to a battle cruiser's hull, the first collapsing the kinetic barriers and peeling meters of ablative plating while the next completely cut through her as if she were made of glass. If there was any chance of victory, he would need those ships alive at all costs, but considering they were outnumbered in the dreadnought department by double, any choice would guarantee death. But turians always fought a battle to the finish, or they didn't fight at all.

"Change ship course to engage those dreadnoughts with a few cruisers. Have our wolf-pack flotillas engage the enemy from above and below." He ordered.

"Aye, sir." Victus replied, having complete faith in his superior.

The _Peace Keeper's_ oversized thrusters soon blared to life as it accelerated to meet the barbarians. The ship pulsed its engines, reaching deep for more thrust. A huge burst of power emanated from its core, accelerating the dreadnought towards the heart of the enemy fleet.

Immediately, batarian frigates and corvettes commenced firing, their missile batteries and point defense lasers bombarding every part of the turian dreadnought that they could. Multiple slugs impacted the large ship's kinetic barrier, but only a few managed to penetrate through the armor. The _Peace Keeper_ shook as the concentrated fire of two batarian frigates slammed into its barriers, depleting it to just under half strength. The turian dreadnought fired off its secondary cannon, the particle accelerated round easily gutting three batarian corvettes. Multiple squadrons of turian fighters swept in, engaging the enemy frigates and drawing their fire away from the _Peace Keeper_.

Servius felt a fierce surge of pride in his crew. They were turian, dedicated to battle; nothing less would suffice. Not the krogan, not the rachni, _nothing_ would prevent them from victory.

"Admiral, range is close! They're about to pass us," Vyrnnus reported with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"Standby for broadside engagement! Divert power to all weapons and fire at will!"

It was then the two formations interpenetrated and broadside guns exchanged fire the instant that they could be brought to bear. Under the circumstance, neither force had the advantage, the batarian lighter vessels were unable to survive in the closed ranged slaughter while the turians were unable to match the batarian's combined firepower. Both sides managed to score hits, the batarians eviscerating multiple turian corvettes that had sacrificed themselves to save nearby battle cruisers.

The turian battle cruises, in turn, fired an impressive salvo at the batarian ships, avenging their fallen brethren. The remaining turian frigates further added carnage to the enemy fleet, engaging from above and below and expending all their Thanix missiles into the batarian ships. At this range, Disruptor torpedoes became the preferred ordnance for every other type of ship, being continuously fired by the hundreds. Torpedoes detonated around the hulls of many battered vessels, twisting their frames in unholy ways.

However, the spotlight was concentrated on the dreadnoughts as the battle reached its climax. The moment the two fleets passed each other, each dreadnought began to rotate around its vertical axis, allowing the main thrusters to contribute directly to the deceleration and bringing their spinal cannons to bear.

The _Peace Keeper_ , with its superior thrusters, was able to bare its fangs first. Escorted by three cruisers, they all opened fire as one on the nearest dreadnought. It was so close, Servius was able to read the ship's name through the cameras, the onboard translation deciphering the batarians words to show _Black Diamond_.

Mass accelerator slugs, Disruptor torpedoes, and even a particle accelerated round accelerated towards the batarian capital ships. The turian vessels poured everything they had onto the batarian dreadnoughts, leaving no chance for the ships to survive.

The _Black Diamond_ suddenly veered off course, its thrusters trying desperately to avoid its annihilation. GARDIAN lasers from the two batarian dreadnoughts came online, red gleams of light swatting at the incoming salvo as they neared the ships. Two of the cruisers' rounds and half of the torpedoes either missed or were intercepted by point defenses, but the rest of the ordnance managed to strike home. With a combined force of over two hundred kilotons, the barriers on the _Black Diamond_ collapsed, her plates stripped from her hull by the torpedoes, leaving the ships more vulnerable to each following salvo. That is if there was to be any.

By now the two batarian dreadnoughts had realigned their formations to re-engage the turian flotilla, the two dreadnoughts firing their own salvo. Two mass accelerator slugs, followed by dozens upon dozens of Javelin missiles and Disruptor torpedoes screamed out of the enemy ships, calling for the death of the turian vessels.

The turian cruisers struggled frantically to reacquire targets. Their GARDIAN lasers fired in continuous bursts, but were unable to prevent their destruction. One of the turian cruisers had a wing sheared completely off as it tried to dodge a mass accelerator slug, sending it spiraling out of control as half of its maneuvering thrusters failed. The batarian dreadnoughts simply passed the helpless vessel, pouring broadside fire into it as they went by. Another cruiser had its barriers completely collapsed and was soon destroyed by an incoming slug. The rest of the torpedoes and missiles were intercepted by the remaining turian vessels' defenses.

With only two ships, one of which only a cruiser, Servius prepared to do the unthinkable, win against two dreadnoughts. Beneath his vision, side-bays opened on both turian ships, exposing their hulls, but at the same time displaying the ferocious fangs they both bore. Before the batarian dreadnoughts had a chance to fire, the turians ships launched whatever munitions they had remaining. Mass accelerated slugs paled in comparison to the number of missiles ejected from the turian missile pods.

Of course they weren't of the Javelin variant, but a special version. Named after the turian spirit of destruction, the Thanix missiles had lived up to their name across numerous engagements and this one was no different. The core of each Thanix payload was a liquid alloy of iron, uranium, and tungsten, suspended in an electromagnetic field powered by element zero. The molten metal was then accelerated to a significant fraction of the speed of light, solidifying the substance into a projectile and hitting the target with enough force to pierce any known barrier. As the processes occurred within each missiles' core, they all accelerated towards the dreadnoughts.

Before the turian ordnance had a chance to connect with the two enemy ships, the batarians managed to fire off a desperate salvo of their own. Slugs ejected from their main cannons guided by the last hundred or so torpedoes and missiles. It was a last ditch effort for either side as their fates truly rested on victory.

Each salvo collided with their intended targets, even as GARDIAN lasers and point defenses tried to minimize the damage. The turian cruiser was easily destroyed in the onslaught as a mass accelerator slug split it in half, while the _Peace Keeper_ shook violently, her barriers collapsing and ablative platings being forcibly ripped off her hull. She held strong, but only just, the ordnance nearly overwhelming her. Still the weary ship pressed on, turrets and broadside guns giving a piercing cry each time they fired. The reinforced front armor had taken an immense beating, whole sections of it melting away, yet the _Peace Keeper_ was intent on avenging her comrades.

It was then the round from the now-deceased turian cruiser, combined with a heavy salvo of Thanix missiles impacted the weakened batarian dreadnought. Servius watched with a sense of satisfaction as the weakened ship's propulsion system utterly failed, rendering her vulnerable to the killing blow. The turian dreadnought fired its particle accelerator at full power, adding another twenty kilotons of pure destruction along with the last of her torpedoes, numbering in the low thirties. The combined attack was more than enough to destroy the weakened batarian ship. The bright sparks that erupted along her hull signaled her end, the ship going up in flames before coming apart.

The other batarian dreadnought received the _Peace Keeper's_ slug, like an angered talon of justice, nearly depleting the barriers of the enemy's remaining flagship. The rest of the Thanix missiles corrected that mistake, untold numbers colliding with the behemoth. Entire segments of the enemy ship's hull were vaporized, but it still continued to move.

Before Servius could order another attack, it was already too late. By now all of the batarian fleet – or what remained of it – was past him, activating their FTL drives. The uncaring Relay anchored their lightning bolts and propelled their ships across the vast emptiness of space, far beyond the range of his fleet.

Servius slammed a talon on the railings, the vibration echoing through the bridge. "No! We let them get away!" The admiral was never one to lose control of his emotions, much less in the presence of his crew, but no one could blame him for his frustration.

Intellectually, he knew that by now the _Peace Keeper_ was no more than a wreck, trailing debris and atmosphere from more than a dozen hull breaches. It was still a harsh blow, seeing his target escape … although the enormous numbers of dead or dying enemy vessels provided some balm for the burning wound.

Servius took a slow glance at the tactical display, following it up with an equally meandering gaze out what video feeds were still up. Hundreds of ships littered the system, their dead crew evicting silent cries.

Across the system, the other fleet – alien in nature – maintained their position, neither firing nor advancing on his weakened position. They've long since destroyed their own batarian opponents, yet maintained a paralyzed stance. The sight made the decision for him; and he made a simple choice, one that would have massive ramifications for the rest of the galaxy.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that wraps up the Shanxi arch and we end on a massive cliff hanger. I know many of you may want to kill me when I say this, but my partners and I will be taking a brief hatius in order to polish the next few chapters. I cannot say when they'll be ready or when to expect updates, however be relieved that once you see Dawn of Titans updated you can expect them to be regular ones. Until we meet again my beloved readers, F13D out. Don't forget to fav, follow, and review.

Also feel free to PM me with any questions you may have at anytime or just if you feel like communicating with me or my partners.

 **Trivia:**

1\. The turian frigates hitting in a 3-D like maneuver, striking from above and below the batarian fleet was inspired by Radon088s strategies.

2\. If you notice, each alien capital ship is tied to its commanding officer's defining traits or fate: Toren like his ship became a Cursed Soul, Ban has showed time and time again why he is Superior to all others, and Servius has displayed that like all true turians he is a genuine Peace Keeper. Even Talal's ship can also fit this trivia, highlighting the Iron Clad will that he posses for his people so much so he wishes to fight the batarians once again. Other moral of the story: Pay attention to small details children, you don't know what surprises they will reveal.

3\. Adding onto the previous trivia, each ship is as unique as the characters. We have seen an Alliance carrier with 3 hangars, a large 2.1km long batarian dreadnought, and a slightly smaller, yet notable turian dreadnought with a secondary particle accelerator cannon!

4\. Originally we were supposed to have some Alliance ships fire on the turians under the assumption that they Hierarchy was here to help the batarians only to learn that was not the case. Servius would have ordered warning shots, but would have focused on the batarian fleet. In order to create more character development in Servius and focus on his side of the naval battle, the chapter was rewritten to show this.

5\. Also the original naval battle was only supposed to be one chapter, be glad that we were able to expand it two and publish both at the same time for your enjoyment.

6\. It is lamp-shaded by Ban, that even when placed in the strangest of the situations, the turians still have a stick up their asses.

7\. The ship name and class for the Black Diamond is the same one as the one in Spirit of Luna, my other fic, specifically Ch.7. Be warned the quality isn't as great as Dawn of Titans so its best of you just stick to reading this story.

8\. The ending is a true testament to Ban's skill, once again he has evaded capture, however what will this mean for the Hegemony? Tuned in next time for the answer.

9\. You see some references to some rather non-canon tech. For those of you who haven't read Chronicles of a New Age, primarily the chapters on the Council races, they've managed to create new technologies like miniature and large particle accelerator cannons. The turians themselves, being military focused and most likely having most of their science teams focus on that, have Thanix missiles and Neutron bombs to which they use to devastating results.

10\. The format of this chapter is basically an unmovable object meeting an unstoppable force and as you can see both experienced extensive damage.


	18. Chapter 18 - Aftermath

1–10–2157 0434 hours (Alliance standard calendar)

 _ **SSV Tesla**_

 **Super Carrier**

 **Command Deck**

Admiral Michal Spencer stood like a man made of iron on the _Tesla's_ bridge. The position allowed him a perfect view of Shanxi, sitting perfectly along its axis while his ship hovered near the destroyed defense satellites. Hundreds of shuttles and auxiliary ships descended towards the planet, carrying an abundance of resources like ants returning home. Some, decorated with the Red Cross symbol demonstrating their fealty, were descending from hospital ships, transporting medical supplies to treat the wounded.

Surrounding the brilliant sphere, the darkness of space was filled with the unmistakable sparks of welding and repairs surrounding many battle-worn and beaten vessels. Yet more sparks spread even further from the planet like miniature stars, revealing where a secondary comm. buoy system was in the process of being constructed.

But such activity paled in comparison to the new fleet standing motionless across the system. Initially these new ships had been believed to be enemy reinforcements, but the Alliance had quickly learned that these beings too opposed the batarians. The question was, of course, what happens next?

The admiral looked through a different window into the vastness of space, wondering how events from the past few weeks had cultivated in this scenario.

His mind was consumed by the thoughts of the battle for Shanxi and its outcomes. The countless losses it had taken to recapture it and how many more would be needed to secure humanity's future? Being an admiral, he was well aware sacrifices were a fact of war, that some died so that others could live in peace. The best course of action right now was to heavily reinforce his fleet with anything available. Earth was a priority of course, but out here, so far away …

Perhaps the greatest tragedy was the morbid graveyard that left the horrific impression that nobody had truly won, for all sides had lost something. Among the preserved corpses of once mighty ships lay the dead, those fortunate enough to be preserved while others continued to roam freely among the debris. Countless lives, hundreds of ships, and an entire planet had been destroyed by war. The death count was in the millions, civilian and soldier alike. No funeral, no memorial was large enough – _could_ be large enough - to honor the fallen. The heroic defenders not only faced death innumerable times, but _embraced_ it in the hopes that their sacrifice would buy enough time for help to arrive… a hope that had finally achieved fruition two weeks later.

Now once again for possibly the third time in a month, humanity bore witness to yet another alien race arriving at its doorsteps. Strangely enough, for Spencer at least, it seemed humanity was becoming increasingly accustomed to greeting aliens at Shanxi.

Still, he eyed the alien fleet suspiciously, noting their predatory appearance. Both his and the new fleet had suffered losses whilst combating the batarians, but fortunately the Alliance had lost only 40 ships. The aliens had lost over twice as many, with a significant portion being heavily damaged. Yet despite maintaining the numerical advantage, Spencer was no idiot. These new arrivals were clearly far better trained and equipped than the batarians, based on recorded combat footage; redundant information after witnessing the battle with his own eyes. The fact that the new fleet had a hundred less ships than the batarians, yet were able to avoid being annihilated merely cemented that belief.

In his head, Spencer ran through all possible scenarios. If the worst came to pass he was prepared to extract possible VIPs from Shanxi and have the Fifth Fleet engage. With a combined effort, it was entirely possible that the Alliance could effectively secure the system. Further reinforcements were already in the middle stages of being prepared and all Spencer had to do was have Arcturus authorize their deployment. His ship's AI had already delivered a detailed report on the situation, which meant a worst-case scenario left him needing to only concern himself with bogging the enemy down. But part of him knew that such actions would lead to an even larger intersystem war, one that would make WWII look like a sideshow by comparison. If the odds ensured no chance of survival, then Spencer was fully prepared to die fighting to the bitter end. He just hoped that those odds wouldn't become reality.

"Sir, unknown's capital ship is advancing!" Yeol exclaimed.

"Mikhailovich, I want a full check on all weapon systems; rearm and fresh crews as necessary. Dewa, divert auxiliary power to the shields." The ship's captain ordered, before giving Spencer a questioning look.

Spencer nodded approvingly. "Relay the same orders to the fleet and have them pick out targets, but make it clear _no one_ fires until I give the order." The bridge became a swarm of activity as the colossal ship underwent preparations.

"In bound ship tracked: dreadnought class," Yeol reported, confirming his worst fears.

Spencer felt the pit of his stomach grow deeper the closer the enemy's capital ship got. He was reluctant to fire upon the vessel, since it was the only one to have moved. The rest of its alien kindred remained far back, stationed near the Relay.

 _'What is that commander doing? No sane naval commander would risk a fleet's capital ship.'_ Spencer became highly disturbed at what he considered to be insane, the alien commander putting his ship in jeopardy.

The tactical performance demonstrated by the alien commander indicated he was anything but crazy. Still, Spencer hoped there was more to the situation than what it appeared to be. Despite being heavily damaged, the alien's dreadnought was capable of unleashing magnitudes of firepower. The fact that said dreadnought was the only one Spencer had ever seen sporting secondary cannon made him even more uneasy.

Initially, he believed it could have been the alien's version of a battleship, but quickly dismissed it when his ship ran its first scans. The thrusters were far too large, armor not thick enough, and the range too great for it to be such a thing.

"Weapons ready, sir!" Mikhailovich reported. The admiral nodded, looking to his left and right, finding the legion of ships under his command also preparing their weaponry.

The admiral held up an open palm, reminding everyone to hold fire. "Stratus, is our ship's software algorithms compatible with the aliens?"

"Yes admiral. Based on the scans, this species utilizes Prothean communication systems as a base firmware, or a more primitive version like the raloi or batarians. While not advance as ours, they should not have any trouble detecting any hails."

"Excellent. Prepare to send a message." Spencer was not a man of elegant words, but he knew the best way to get his point across.

"Comm. system ready admiral."

Clearing his throat, Spencer recited the more formal version of telling someone to leave; the version he felt like giving would possibly incite another war. "This is Admiral Spencer of the Systems Alliance. You are entering sovereign space under military jurisdiction. Identify yourself or you will be treated as hostile invaders." Spencer knew of course the last part was a major bluff, but there was no way in hell would he appear weak in the face of another possible invasion.

Seconds ticked by, the crews filling the section visibly cringing by each passing moment. The dreadnought continued advancing with no sign of slowing down. Everyone mentally kept track of the closing distance, almost nearing weapons range for any mid-weight ship.

 _'May god help us all,'_ Spencer thought, preparing to give his gravest order yet.. If the ship failed to stop, he would have no choice but to do his duty to uphold humanity's security. He looked forward, staring at the eyes of the giants. "All ships, prepare to fire on my mark."

The atmosphere in the bridge became increasingly tense. Everyone held their breath, hoping that the worst wouldn't come to pass.

The allied fleet had a total of a hundred twenty five combat capable ships, weapons aimed straight at the enemy and prepared to fire. Spencer tuned out all voices and shouts of command, and for a few more seconds contemplated on his whole life, whether it had been worthwhile at the end. He decided to enjoy the possible last few seconds of silence he would have before committing to another battle, one that would surely be his last.

It had been a good life; very little to regret. In the end, what more could a man ask? Well, other than a different ending … but no one chose when they met their Maker. Best to ensure as many of his foes met theirs. He opened his previously wielded shut jaw, intending for commands to follow, but at the last possible second, Dewa shouted at the top of his lungs.

"SIR! The aliens are transmitting a message on all frequencies! I think they're trying to communicate with us!"

The admiral released a huge – but silent – sigh of relief. He remained outwardly composed, ensuring his stance failed to give the slightest indication of anxiety. To the crew, it seemed he took the news in an utter calm. He gave the crewman a beatific smile, "How so?"

"By using the same signals as the batarians, sir." It was ironic, but Dewa may not have realized he had just reduced stress levels by an exponential level … with a mere sentence.

"Patch it through and clean up the transmission as best you can. Stratus, you know the usual, scan for viruses or hacking attempts." Spencer ordered.

"Affirmative, admiral." The AI was indeed an amazing tool when utilizing communications. While not fool-proof it offered an increased layer of protection for any of the ship's systems.

The machine went to work, reducing its performance in other areas, such was the priority. After the AI had given the all clear, the communication specialists all went to work, attempting to decipher the message. As minutes slowly passed, Stratus soon joined them once again, agitated at their pace.

While the laborious work was going on, the admiral noticed the alien dreadnought had stopped; spurring him to briefly wonder if it might be some final act of humiliation on the alien's part. His cynical side assumed the aliens were going to proclaim themselves victors of the battle and attack, or perhaps ask him to surrender for violating some intergalactic law. Anything could be a potentially illegal move really, ranging from using illegal weaponry to wearing the color red on a Thursday; they were aliens after all.

"Admiral, there is a secondary transmission." Stratus's cool voice spoke up.

"Yes?"

"It appears to be a simple binary sequence, similar to early coding behaviors. Both appear to be carrying similar messages."

Spencer lifted an eyebrow, surprising news, yet not as alien as expected. "Is there a difference between the two versions?"

The hologram gave a digital equivalent of a shrug. "The binary version can be considered akin to a primitive parlance. It is somewhat insulting, actually."

"Let's go with the other version then," Spencer growled. "No need to burn bridges until after we used them."

"Transmitting now."

The message spooled onto his screen as he watched, showing a simple video. Spencer received his first glimpse of the new aliens.

The broadcast began by showing an alien with a semi-oval shaped head with three small crests protruding from the back of the skull. The mandibles at the side of the face were clearly visible and its skin appeared chitinous. Unlike the batarians, who held an aura of arrogance, this one stood strong, determination it its eyes without any apparent bloodlust. Overall, they resembled humanoid birds or sharp-eyed hawks with incredibly thick armor. Clearly avian, with a height similar to humans.

" _Greeting, aliens. I am Admiral Adras Servius of the Turian Hierarchy and I come under the flag of peace."_ The alien had a calm delivery, a modest trait, if not completely expected given their numerical disparity.

Spencer easily recognized the alien as a turian thanks to the codex Dain had retrieved from the batarians. He gained a new thankfulness for the peaceful nature of their meeting thus far, but was still skeptical of the turian's intentions. No one brings a fully-armed combat ready fleet for simple diplomatic proceedings. Aliens, however, were titled so for a reason; their thought processes were literally inhuman. That in mind, he dismissed any preemptive conclusions until after the video ended.

 _"While you may not understand me, I wish for nothing but cooperation and peaceful co-existence with your kind. We have detected an energy build up in your ships and while I admire your courage, I must warn you we will not hesitate to defend ourselves. While I cannot condemn you for being cautious – Spirits knows what those batarians have done to your kind – I must still ask for you to lay down your arms. We are not your enemies!"_

Spencer could hardly believe what he had just heard. His entire fleet had been prepared for combat the moment the turian ship had entered weapons range, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The last thing he'd expected was for the aliens to want to peace, openly requesting it no less. He didn't know if the turians were fully trustworthy, but at the same time what choice was there? The aliens certainly had enough ships to wage another immense naval battle. At worst they might be able to steamroll through Shanxi and a few other lightly defended colonies before being stopped.

He leaned back, thinking. Considering they haven't fired on his fleet, a small part of Spencer was inclined to believe them. So far he accepted what the turian was saying, but remained skeptical.

"Stratus, order all ships of cruiser size and below to shut down weapons, but to keep their barriers at full power," Spencer ordered.

"Affirmative, admiral."

Most of the ships within the fleet slowly powered down their weapons, diverting the now superfluous flow of power to shields. It took a few minutes for the _Tesla's_ sensors to detect the reduction in energy, apparently the same for the turians. Within seconds, Spencer received another transmission from them.

" _Well, I must say I am impressed. I do not know how you are able to understand me, though I imagine the batarians may have had something to do with that."_

Spencer folded his arms, keeping his face impassive for the crew. _'You have no idea.'_

The turian continued. _"I am thankful we have avoided more bloodshed, regardless. While these are not the ideal of circumstances, on behalf of the Hierarchy and the Council, I welcome you to the galactic stage. Normally the asari would be in charge of the welcoming ceremony, but I think we can all agree the situation we find ourselves in is anything, but normal."_ The fashion in which the turian spoke was as graceful as it was assertive; almost as if he were trained in public speaking as well as military tactics. The mention of another race did not fail to catch Spencer's attention either, but all he could do was wait and listen until Servius finished.

" _If you are willing to conduct negotiations, my ship is opened to whoever is in charge of the fleet before me. A security team for your diplomats or commanders is acceptable as an added measure of safety. As you come to a conclusion I will begin my report to the Council. I am certain they will be eager for your arrival at the Citadel – our center of government – and to greet you in person."_

The moment the transmission ended, Spencer's mind once again raced over all possible scenarios. It was a unique trait of his to ponder all possibilities before committing to one, such was the responsibilities of any leader.

 _'I could refuse them, despite the potential for their being powerful allies – that is if they aren't waiting for the right moment to strike. Then again, after seeing and hearing everything in the past few hours, I am inclined to believe them anyways.'_

"Admiral Servius, this is Fleet Admiral Michael Spencer of the Systems Alliance speaking. It is a relief to hear your goals of peace aligns with ours. If your words are true, then I shall depart for your dreadnought via shuttle." He paused, giving the camera his best forbidding look; although for all he knew it was a marriage proposal in some alien tradition. "Be aware: if this is a ruse, my fleet will not hesitate to fire upon you."

Spencer gave the ship's AI a nod, prompting it to deliver the message. Once done, he turned his attention to the rest of the crew. "Dewa, send word to Admiral Dresher to prepare her battleship and a destroyer squadron in case this is a trap. I want the _Tesla_ and the _McKinley_ to be covered at all times."

"Understood, admiral. Do you want the fleet to hold position?"

"Absolutely. Stratus, prep a Kodiak for departure and have an escort meet me at the hangar, preferably N7s."

"I've already made the necessary arrangements admiral. An ICT team is already en route to the hangar bays, none below N5 rank."

Spencer gave an approving nod. He turned to address the First Officer, but pitched his voice to carry over the rest of the crew present. "I do not know what the results of this encounter may be, but I want all of you prepared for the worst. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir!" The man's attitude was one of trust, reinforced by the trusting eyes of the crew on deck. The news would spread throughout the ship via the fastest entity known to man: gossip. Perhaps they didn't know what was going on, but they obviously trusted him to make the right decision ... a responsibility that he prayed would never seem too light.

Soon, he could see the Alliance fleet beginning to reform, heavy vessels moving forward; more exposed in that way, but better positioned to cover the Fifth Fleet's dreadnought and carriers. The lighter ships followed in synchronized harmony, shuffling aside to make room for the massive guns. The overall effect was similar to that of an insect swarm, protecting its home ... but over the course of cubic kilometers.

Spencer waited, timing their advance across the stars, and then signaled the halt. In order to facilitate the ostensibly peaceful intents of the turians, the warships need to be out of range … but for the sake of safety; it was prudent to ensure it would not take much effort to clear a path should relations turn sour. The _Tesla's_ titanic bulk loomed behind the collective cover of Dresher's battleship and four destroyers, each vessel packing two Mass Accelerators. It felt a bit dirty, deliberately placing them in harm's way, but the _Tesla_ had to be protected, at any cost.

Spencer leaned on the support rail, taking a moment to ponder the significance. Internally, he grimaced. Speeches really weren't his thing, but the effort had to be made. Straightening, he tugged on his cuffs, pulling the lines straight across his shoulders. "Stratus, give me a fleet-wide channel. I want to speak to the fleet."

"Done, admiral," the machine responded. A red light blinked at him from the comm panel.

"Soldiers of the Alliance," Spencer looked directly at where the tiny recessed camera was hidden, "We have done great work today; we have freed Shanxi from alien oppression and driven the barbarians back. I look to all of you as equals, as champions of humanity willing to give their lives for the greater good. That is why," he swallowed, "That is why my last directive to you will not be easy, but nonetheless necessary. In a few minutes, we will be meeting with the apparent leaders of this new fleet. I pray they will be allies, not enemies. But I would be a terrible leader if I did not plan for the future. In the event that this is all a hoax, I hereby order the _Tesla_ to immediately depart to a safe distance, without waiting for our return. Whatever nuclear weapons our escorts have remaining, they are hereby ordered to fire upon the turians as soon as their hostile intent is known."

Silence spread on the ship, as he bowed his head. "If all goes well, we will have friends. If not, I know I can count on you; all of you. Do the right thing. Protect our people. Admiral Spencer, signing off."

He paused, taking in the bridge. Everyone stared at him silently, fire in their eyes. As a good crew should, he knew they understood what he was leaving unsaid; they understood the risk he was taking on their own behalf. The pressure he was placing on the Fifth fleet was immense, but so too was the importance of this meeting. In later years there would be many debates over the beginning of his legend; but those serving under him would never argue. Sending himself into danger, to preserve the rest, was the hallmark of leadership in their eyes.

It took time for Spencer to reach the super carrier's hangar bays. The _Telsa_ was so large that multiple internal trams were needed for rapid transit, passing horizontally through numerous halls, walkways, and even vertically through floors to reach the appropriate chamber. He used it well, however, donning the somewhat bulky vacuum-proof body armor typically used by hangar maintenance before the final stop.

The suit carried minimal enhancement technology, but even within the vast hangars, Spencer's keen eyes were able to spot a blue painted Kodiak with a squad of elite soldiers nearby. Likewise they were able to spot him as well and both groups headed for one another until the distance between was close enough for the lead N7 marine to give a salute.

"Admiral, Staff Sergeant Melisa Tanaka. My squad and I are one of the two teams that will be escorting you aboard the turian dreadnought."

' _Short and to the point. Blunt, but pragmatic,'_ Spencer thought. The woman appeared to be a mixed of Japanese and Hispanic heritage. She seemed to command her squad with immense confidence, an excellent trait in a leader.

"Very well, sergeant. I want you and your squad to capture everything that you see or hear. Everything from internal structures, to weaponry and armor design; _anything_ that would give us insight into their combat capabilities. Any information we can get will be worth ten times its weight in gold … metaphorically speaking." He glanced upwards at the sensors placed for the AI. "Transmit it if you think the conference is going FUBAR. The Defense Committee will need to see it, whatever happens to us."

"Of course admiral. Perfectly understandable. My team and I will keep an eye out for anything that can be of use." Tanaka replied.

"Let's go, then." The Alliance entourage, following the admiral, stepped inside the Kodiak and prepared for departure. After all pre-flight procedures were taken care of; the _Tesla's_ hangar doors began to open, slowly exposing the ship to the vacuums of space. The hanger workers stood at attention, magnetic clamps in their sealed uniforms holding them to the floor, despite the rushing wind. Soon the Kodiak flew out of the hangar and into space, slowly approaching the dreadnought hundreds of kilometers away.

* * *

 _ **HWS Peace Keeper**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

"Admiral, we're being hailed; it's a video and audio message." Victus reported.

"Bring it on screen."

A moment later, an image appeared on the ship's main vid-screen, it depicted some sort of asari-like creature with pale skin and fur around his face and body. If it wasn't for the masculine appearance or lack of tentacles, the alien could very well have passed off as an asari.

" _Admiral Servius, this is Fleet Admiral Michael Spencer of the Systems Alliance speaking,"_ The alien said in a strange, slightly threatening, but also calm language. " _I am glad your goals of peace align with ours. If your words are true, then I shall depart for your dreadnought via shuttle. Be aware: if this is a ruse, my fleet will not hesitate to fire upon you."_ The transmission ended quickly as it began, concise and direct.

The bridge became silent, not out of shock, but out of thought. Servius could see the curiosity on his officer's faces. How were these beings able to create a translation with just a single message? On his own part, he could come up with multiple theories, ranging from improved VIs to the aliens stealing knowledge of the turian language from the batarians, but in all honesty, none could be validated.

He shook his head, sighing. His patience was rewarded with another message soon after, giving a brief account on the alien's history, biology, and government.

Servius was able to learn of their name: human, apparently a title derived from a dead language known as _Latin_.

Unlike the asari – but like turians and practically every other species in the galaxy – they were dual-gendered. Their home-world greatly interested him, since it was stated as being 75% covered in water. Naturally, the admiral had no intention of ever visiting their planet; few turians could actually swim. Still, it was a fascinating development. Only the asari and salarians had arisen from a water-filled planet – the hanar didn't count – and they claimed such beginning circumstances created a perfect environment for a race to emerge with expansive knowledge in naval warfare.

He leaned back, looking away from the data file for a moment. If properly utilized, the two-dimensional strategies the humans learned from their home-world could easily be applied to the three dimension of space. Servius believed this to be the reason why they possessed such a large vessel that was as long as the _Destiny Ascension_ was tall. While he would never admit it, deep down he was genuinely afraid the power such a vessel could produce. Mentally, he prayed to every single spirit that he knew of, hoping that the colossal vessel wasn't a dreadnought and that they didn't have an over-abundance.

If that was the case, he was very interested in learning this species' military capabilities, and more importantly, if they posed a serious threat to the Hierarchy. "Victus, prepare to send a response." Servius said, clearing his throat.

' _Spirits, what giant have the batarians awakened?'_ Servius was a true turian as anyone could get, however even he wouldn't allow his race to die in the defense of _batarians_. Whatever omen they had cursed themselves with; they would just have to bear it.

"Communication systems ready, sir."

"Fleet Admiral Michael Spencer, I am glad to see your intentions are pure. I welcome you onto my ship and will send some of my men to guide you through it." Servius looked to Victus, and the message was sent.

"Have the fleet remain in position and send that message to all other admirals and captains, tell them we have a tentative First Contact scenario here and no one is to look threatening," the admiral ordered.

He finished the thought in his mind. _'At least not until we know of their military might.'_

There was no actual way of knowing if these people were peaceful like the asari, or war-mongers like the krogan – records could be faked after all. If these humans were peaceful, they could very well have a small-standing army, but if they were war-like then they would need to be intimidated in order to induce docile behavior. Of course that strategy backfired on the krogan, instead making them overly excited. Servius merely hoped the human's message was indeed genuine; this encounter was beyond a lucky opportunity. Getting up, Servius motioned to his bodyguard squad of Blackwatch soldiers, and made his way to the war-room. Negotiations would be difficult as it was; best to start early.

* * *

 _ **HWS Peace Keeper**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Airlock**

After the Kodiak shuttle had docked with the turian ship, Spencer and his escort waited patiently for a guide to greet them. After all, it would not be wise to just walk onto an alien ship without authorization, even if he'd been invited. Behind him, the marines passed the time with small talk about the alien ship or the condition Shanxi was in, and if the reinforcements already landing were needed in a combat role. One of the N5's had been slated for joining a squad under a lower-ranking officer, but the turian request had delayed his deployment substantially.

Minutes later, they fell silent as the airlock door opened to reveal a six foot tall turian in matte black armor, packing heavy gear. Spencer noticed the facial markings on the turian's face; were they for cosmetics value or did they indicate branch or rank? The codex entries were vague on many points.

To his approval, Spencer noted how the N7 group had immediately stopped what they were doing and became still. While they had their weapons holstered, they still had their shields to full power. He gave their leader an approving glance before turning his full attention to the alien.

The turian gave a bow, "Ambassadors, I am Major Corinthus. I will be escorting all of you to the meeting room. Please follow me."

Moving with a little hesitation at first, but gaining resolve, the group followed this 'Corinthus' into the airlock. Based on his observations, Spencer assumed the turian to be a male; unless their women possessed a deep voice and wide shoulders – entirely possible – at least the codex had been helpful in that regard.

After going through the airlock, they walked through a relatively short hall into what looked to be a small room with sliding doors. Unless the turians required a moment of meditation in small boxes, it had to be an elevator. Spencer felt pleased at his guess when after a few seconds of the turian pressing holographic buttons, the elevator moved downwards. After another waiting period which was not surprising given they were on a dreadnought, the doors opened to reveal a rather large hangar, only to be met with a terrific sight.

Hundreds of figures in thick blue armor stood in parade-ground formation, lethal looking objects strapped to their sides. If their stance was any indication it was that these men, and by extension their entire military arm, was discipline and well-trained. Spencer kept the impassive face he'd worked so hard to attain in place, inspecting the display analytically. A tiny vibration-alert from his omni-tool pressed his resolve to remain stoic; one of the N7 at his back had just switched to a high-definition recording mode.

Corinthus snarled a subvocal tone, sending shivers down Spencer's backbone. "Attention on deck!"

In unison, the turians saluted, standing even more alert if possible. Spencer felt surprised at the show of respect; if the Hierarchy was anything similar to the Alliance, this was indeed an honor, reserved for visiting dignitaries of significant standing. He had too many years of experience to show his surprise however, and maintained a passive face. One minor adjustment – a minor relaxing of his back and a slight upturn to one side of his mouth – changed his expression from an aloof position to satisfied approval, and continued following Corinthus.

Logically, Spencer knew the turians would be studying both himself and his retainers on as deep a level as possible. From their perspective, he and his people were an unknown threat, possibly capable of erupting in Dark Matter chaos … a possible state some of the more … esoteric intellectuals back on Arcturus had theorized fueled non-human biotics. Although the tension was thick, all of the aliens in the room had the decency to return to what they were doing as the group passed them.

At the halfway point through the room, he discovered a sudden realization: each soldier seemed to carry rectangular prism-pods. The way each turian carried the object made it obvious they contained weapons of various shapes and sizes. Several were reminiscent of the weapons used by the Batarians … which in turn suggested a central production facility used by more than one species.

Looking around the room he also saw vehicles, ranging from aerodynamic creations built for speed to bulky, massive constructs, clearly meant for heavy fighting. The abundant armor plating on the larger machines was both reassuring and intimidating; these soldiers obviously valued their soldiers' lives, but that suggested a highly trained military. The longer a soldier lived, the more valuable his expertise became after all.

The group continued to walk forward, making their way to yet another elevator, this one much darker in color. The interior made Spencer feel a bit uneasy; if not for the lights, he would have thought the floor to be the bottom of a very deep pit. The elevator started moving upwards, then sideways, and even diagonally as the strange construction carried them towards their next checkpoint.

Corinthus, apparently more confident in the confined chamber turned to Spencer. "Admiral, does your kind believe in any great deity or deities and a life beyond death?"

The question seemed rather odd for Spencer, inspired by an unknown thought process. Still he gave a response. "More or less. The majority of humanity believes in certain religions while others completely doubt the existence of a deity."

"Interesting. So your kind has never held a single universal belief?"

"No, never. Each person is free to practice their own beliefs so long as it doesn't conflict with the law. Although there have been times when certain religions have been changed in order to conform to secular laws, we have by and large been able to make it work."

"Still, I imagine this division must've been a great source of conflict for your kind."

"Unfortunately yes." Spencer fell silent. Almost every human regretted that portion of their history; all of the past conflicts waged on religious grounds, the loss of lives suffered simply because some people dared to have different beliefs – or a lack thereof.

"I see. Well I presume you would like to know more of the race that attacked you?" Corinthus asked.

The simple response and sudden change of topics caused Spencer to become suspicious but had the effect of bringing his focus to laser point intensity. Any free information on the batarians was not something he would pass up. "What do you know of them?"

"Regrettably more than I like." Corinthus grunted. It was evident he did not have a positive view on the race. "The batarians are one of many races that are part of the Citadel, a massive station left behind by the Protheans. Unfortunately, they have a horrific reputation for violating many of our laws, laws that my people fight and die to uphold. As I suspect you have become aware of, they are capable of horrific atrocities."

The turian drew a deep breath, shaking his head. His dark eyes came to rest on Spencer's own. "Rest assured, their actions here do not reflect those of the Citadel or the Council and we will do everything in our power to ensure justice is sought for the innocent lost."

Corinthus words seemed authentic and Spencer was greatly pleased to learn the turians shared a great dislike for the batarians. It hadn't escaped his notice how the major had mentioned many races being unified. While their numbers or military strength was still unknown, Spencer was relieved he hadn't started a war with these turians, especially considering that they were apparently a galactic policing agency.

Soon all talk had ended as the strange elevator came to a halt and the door opened to reveal another small hall with a door at its end. "We are here." Corinthus stated.

* * *

 _ **HWS Peace Keeper**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **War Room**

The chosen room to house the proceedings was quite large and perfectly circular. At the exact center was yet another circle, this one seeming to be encompassed by a holo-table that projected all ship positions. A shiver down Spencer's spine; it was an elegantly sophisticated maneuver – the turians could observe any hostile movements while at the same time granting him an honest look at their own deployments.

Looking at the display more closely, he could see that the holo-table, other than being round and placed in the center of the room, was not terribly different from the ones used by the Alliance. It had blue metallic railings, so that people could lean on it and examine what was being depicted in the center. The hologram itself was multi-colored, with a rather accurate representation of the local space cluster and the ships surrounding it. The sight wasn't a shining example of advanced technology, but the very detailed coloring was easy on the eyes.

The circular room held only nine turians, although the size clearly indicated it could hold many more. As Spencer entered, his peripheral noticed how the turian guards silently looked up at the humans, their black armor scheme nearly identical to those of the N7 marines. The similarities ended there, the oddly shaped helmets and other biological features, highlighting them as anything but human.

The combined group, including the turians, stayed in place rather obviously uncomfortable. Corinthus stepped in, facing Spencer. "Ambassador, this is Admiral Servius. For him to meet with you in person is a sign of upmost trust, to expose himself in such a delicate situation. Like all of us, he wants to resolve this situation a peaceful resolution for both of our races."

"Thank you, Corinthus, but I do not need any formal introduction." One of the turians in more brightly colored armor turned to the human entourage. Spencer watched his eyes, noting how they flitted between the human and turian guard's similar armor. "It's a pleasures to finally meet you in person Admiral Spencer and it does me great honor that you've accepted my invitation; please do not worry about my men. As long as you are on my ship, you will be treated with the upmost respect."

Spencer gave a short bow in return; "And my people will demonstrate the same courtesy. However, I cannot say with true honesty that I'll completely trust any of you yet, even if this works out to benefit the both of us."

Servius nodded slowly, almost sorrowfully. "I understand admiral. I would not be so foolish as to ask for the trust of a race that has suffered under the batarians. I have already informed the Hierarchy of the situation, and they will relay the message to the Citadel Council. After this fiasco it's most likely the batarian representatives will be asked to leave the Citadel."

Spencer allowed a tight smile to grow. Punishment of any type for the batarians was welcome news, but the conversation gave him the perfect opening. "You've mentioned this 'Council' before, what can you tell us about them?"

"The Council's representatives are housed on the Citadel; its members consist of three races, the asari, salarians, and my own." Servius gestured at the holographic projection causing it to change focus to a massive space station. "Each race is primarily dedicated to a specific task whether it be diplomacy, espionage, or enforcement of the Citadel laws." The view changed to images of strange life forms, flickering between the various forms as he spoke. "Then there are the associate races, those of a lower tier membership than the Three; the volus, hanar, elcor, and finally the … batarians.

Spencer heard one of the N7 at his back gasp at the number of races under the Citadel's banner. The feeling was understandable; he suddenly felt like a small fish surrounded by sharks. One other fact was in how Servius practically spat out the last word. Without asking the obvious question, the probable cause for such animosity would be the result of the turian race being in charge of enforcing the law, while the batarians routinely broke it. The sincerity in such words couldn't be faked, unless of course the turian admiral was an accomplished actor.

"Of course at one point, the quarians were also part of the Citadel, but that was over three hundred years ago before they got banished from the station." Servius shook his head, as if in disbelief.

"What did they do that warranted such measures?" Spencer asked. If possible, it would be good to know what infarctions lead to such a punishment.

Servius visibly tensed, the spiked mandibles clamping close to his face. Spencer could feel something was off, and immediately became wary of it. From the corner of his eye, he could see Tanaka taking a step forwards, presumably to press more on the matter; he sent her a glance that said 'drop it.'

Tanaka nodded once and retreated back into anonymity.

Servius appeared to finally locate his voice, "I am not the best authority to explain that period of our history. If you do not mind, we should focus on our current problem."

"Very well." Spencer responded coolly. He kept his body language neutral, but inflected the tone to a less patient timbre. Being passed off was not a good way to treat an ambassador – although allowances had to be made. At least the turian hadn't ignored the question outright.

"As it stands the situation is very delicate. The batarians have not only broken Council law and opened a dormant Mass Relay, but they have also waged war upon an undeclared race, as well as commenced orbital bombardment of a Garden class world," Servius said. "These charges are very grave and I have no doubt that the Council would offer to pay reparations and issue a public apology."

"I have no doubt that would sooth any contempt my race may have, but if I may ask you something admiral?"

Servius responded with a nod; a move apparently similar enough between the two races that required no interpretation.

"Why is opening a dormant Mass Relay such an offense?"

"Doing so was what unleashed the Rachni on the galaxy," Servius answered darkly. His mood shift caused some unease among the human entourage, but Spencer kept a stoic expression. It lasted for only a moment, before the turian admiral shook off the temperament. "But that is a different matter; you'll find more information on the codex we are preparing for you. Until you have it, I would assume you have many questions; feel free to ask whatever you may want or need to know.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Spencer gestured in a more relaxed fashion, subtly checking that the recording was still operating. "I'm _very_ interested in knowing a few things before we can continue further discussion. How did you manage to track the batarians all the way here to our colony? I'd imagine if they were willing to break so many laws, then they'd be cautious enough to at least cover their trail."

"That would be thanks to the salarian's STG, their intelligence network is unrivaled in the galaxy." The turian admiral replied.

Spencer felt as if freezing glacier had dropped on his back. If this was true, then the AIs of this 'STG' must be truly spectacular. "Admiral, in this 'codex,' could you include a detailed history of the Council and the races therein?"

Servius gave an amused laugh. "I've only seen such curiosity among the salarians. Yes, I will tell my people to do so." He gave Spencer a long look. "In fact, perhaps it would be better if I were to give you more information now; that way you could make a better informed decision when we finish our talks."

What happened next was hours of explaining, giving a detailed version of the theorized construction of the Citadel and its subsequent finding. The talk segued into the massive wars the Council faced; one by the Rachni and the other from the Krogan Rebellions. Spencer was impressed how Servius made a point-out of mentioning how it was partly the Council's fault for not properly managing the krogan population, and that it was equally well to blame for creating a fertility virus that would pacify them, breaking one of their own laws in doing so.

The end of the long list of events ended with their current situation, the relative newcomer batarians and the different crimes upon their hands, both committed and suspected.

No human in the room spoke for what felt like an eternity to Spencer; processing the information in their own ways. For the admiral, it seemed practically unbelievable. The number of species alone, much less the events that they had experienced, was an astounding burst of knowledge. Humanity was indeed a small fish in an ocean of sharks, but thankfully said sharks were not hostile to them – at the moment.

Spencer looked at Tanaka, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

She nodded, and tapped her omni-tool. Spencer's own omni-tool vibrated once, and settled, then chirped once. He smiled; the entire conversation had been sent to the _Tesla_ , who would take care to send it on to Arcturus.

"I hope now you understand our motives in helping your kind?" Servius asked from the opposite side of the holo-table, apparently missing their exchange.

"To a certain extent," Spencer admitted cautiously. "While I realize you are a single representative of your Council, you have done much to mollify my concerns. Admiral, I cannot thank you enough for what you are doing for us."

Servius exhaled, possibly in relief. "Worry not. It is the duty of every turian to uphold the law, and the batarians have broken this sacred trust. I can only mourn how many your people have lost." He cleared his throat, glancing at one of his bodyguards. The turian nodded once, and retreated to a door on the opposite side of the room. Servius watched him go, and then returned his focus to Spencer.

"Now as for how the individual species are going to view you, I cannot say. Each have their own unique traits so their opinion may be hard to gauge, but I predict that they will be at least mildly shocked to learn of a race that managed to force the batarians to retreat. If I may, I would also like to offer the assistance of the Hierarchy in rebuilding your colony. My own fleet can trade supplies in exchange for repairs, if you can see your way clear to releasing the facilities for us. I would also be happy to take responsibility for any batarians you have captured and keep my fleet stationed here until your forces are able to fully secure your world."

Spencer sighed; actually allowing alien forces to stay in-system would be a paradigm shift for his people, not counting an alien galactic union. Yet their brief encounter could also be described as a powder-keg waiting to explode – one wrong move, and an intergalactic war could be waged, and on a scale Spencer could arguably say he knew. Nevertheless, the turian was willing to offer much needed supplies and logistics in exchange for repairs. This could be a great opportunity to learn more about their ships, but that cut both ways. In the end it came down to trusting that the turians were a fully cooperative race that was willing to aid them, and possibly making contact with many more.

Unknowingly, Spencer furrowed his brow, spurring talk amongst the turians. It was astonishing, really, just how well this had gone. He had shifted from having expected to blow a hole in the turian fleet's defenses with the destruction of his own ship if necessary to considering welcoming them to his repair ships.

"Well, these are much better news than we expected." Spencer stated. He kept his smile up, slightly exaggerating it in case the turians were incapable of reading the action through his beard. "Right now we should be returning to our ships and explain the situation to High Command. As it stands, an idea of an alliance or partnership is potentially feasible. If it is acceptable to your Hierarchy, we could make a second, more official assembly so that we may discuss further details. For the moment, however, we will be occupied in securing our colony as well as the Raloi homeworld."

The last word seemed to capture the turian's attention. "Raloi? Is this another race?"

Spencer nodded his head. "Prior to contact with the batarians, humanity first discovered the raloi and our First Contact ended peacefully. In fact they were instrumental in helping defend the colony, both on the ground and in space. I fear that without their help, Shanxi would have looked much worse." Spencer didn't need to shade the truth; everything he said was true. However, the tiny fact that their contact with the raloi had been mere hours prior to meeting the batarians, and the mutual defense arising from the shared danger, didn't need to be brought up. The lack of a formal in-person meeting between their respective governments was likewise unnecessary.

One of the turian's advisors chattered something; it took a moment for Spencer's translator to process, but the translation came through, quietly."Ah, that makes sense. Their government name is literal. Systems Alliance, an alliance between different species from different systems, makes absolute sense."

Spencer gave no outward indication of having understood the exchange, but smiled inwardly. No lies had been told, but the details had been present for the turians to observe, if they were careful enough. No doubt these 'salarians' would see it in time, but deciding who knew what was beyond his pay grade.

The turian smiled briefly. "I must admit it's not common for us to stumble across a space-faring race, much less two, but to meet them as part of an alliance is truly breath-taking. The associate races will be shocked indeed. If I may ask though, why didn't they appear before us?" The turian admiral asked.

"Considering the circumstances, they're a bit wary of meeting another race so soon. You do not need to worry; the Raloi are peaceful people, and in time I believe they will be willing to meet with your Council. For now their concern lies with the security of their people."

Servius gave a nod. "I can expect nothing less from a worthy government. In any event it is settled then. I'll contact Primarch Fedorian, directly and ask him to send an envoy as soon as possible. When you reach the hanger, one of my men will give you a data storage device with the information you requested. He left a few minutes ago. Spirits be with you."

Spencer gave another bow, held longer this time, and watched Servius make a gesture to some of the turian guards around the room. They bowed their heads and soon walked towards the group of visitors, with Corinthus leading the way. "Come, admiral. We shall escort you to your ships."

"Very well." Spencer replied. Soon the human entourage made their way back through they length trek once more before arriving at their shuttle. The return flight was much more relaxed than the outward-bound trip; and he nearly caused a riot when it was announced the success of their mission.

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **N7 Strike Force**

" _Humanity can now breathe again. The batarians have_ finally _been driven back from our colony. The cost in lives – our troops and our citizens – has been enormous. But freedom never comes cheaply, and now, we rebuild. I promise this to every man, woman, and child on Shanxi. While we will continue to strive for a peaceful coexistence with other species, we will never become their slaves. This is the moment we start to reclaim our rightful place in the universe."_

Hower listened to the inaugural speech of New Denver's new mayor, the city's former Comptroller, while looking over the darkening night sky. The small emerald lights, spread around the city twinkled like the stars hovering over the planet. A cool breeze blew inland, refreshing yet mournful; had the ruined city been intact, the marine would have never been able to feel it's cool caress through the skyscrapers.

Hospital ships flooded the planet, bringing desperately needed medical supplies and manpower to assist with the humanitarian crisis that now engulfed Shanxi. Rescue workers were working around the clock to dig out survivors buried beneath debris. Hundreds of shuttles had already landed across numerous cities, unloading massive amounts of reinforcements.

Hower had already been made aware of still another alien species' arrival in the system and whatever was left of the defenses were being salvaged in case another attack was imminent. General Williams had placed all remaining military forces on high alert, but thus far no word of attack had been received.

Regardless, Hower felt nothing but exhaustion. He was tired of the fighting, the loss, the death, and simply needed time to gather himself. He knew a great many soldiers felt the same, seeing and experiencing the brutal fighting over the past weeks. Despite being perhaps one of the shortest campaigns humanity had ever fought, it was no less vicious than any other.

He stared out at the scenery, taking in the images of the immediate aftermath. Across the distance was a single flagpole, left intact on the shattered New Denver Harbor waterfront. A workman in a hard hat and orange overalls was clambering up a maintenance gantry to reach it.

' _It's a damn long way to fall,'_ Hower thought. The marine wandered out onto a stump of a girder that had once been part of a pedestrian overpass, trying to get a better view. A piece of dark blue fabric dangled from the workman's back pocket. Hower couldn't see a safety harness, but then again there wasn't much left of the crumbing building to secure it to.

' _And they say N7s are crazy,'_ he thought, watching the man with renewed curiosity. Behind him, Hower heard the sounds of footsteps. Frost caught up with him and leaned on what was left of the overpass safety rail. It creaked as he put his weight on it.

"Come on, we've only got an hour." Frost gestured irritably with his wrist, brandishing his watch, and then frowned at something on his sleeve. "Damn it, I'm covered in shit already. We can't rock in our number threes looking like this. It's the general _._ "

"You can brush it off," Hower said, distracted by the reckless workman again. He held up a warning finger. "Wait. I have to see what this guy does."

He knew Frost wasn't being disrespectful. He was just nervous about the unexplained summons from military command. Hower understood that, but they had another mission to complete.

A visit to New Denver's harbor was rare.

' _And we made a promise. General or no general.'_

A small crowd watched from the shore, a mix of construction workers, firefighters, and sappers who were still digging bodies out of the rubble two weeks after the initial bombardment. The workman, now teetering on the end of the gantry, lunged at the flagpole and managed to haul in the halyard. He clipped bit of cloth to it and wobbled for a moment before tugging on the line to reveal the white stars of the Southern Cross on a deep blue ground in the canton. The crowd cheered, and a wet navy ship tender in the harbor sounded its klaxon.

Frost seemed to be working something out, lips moving as if he was counting. "Well done, Oz. Twenty not out." He nudged Hower in the back and strode off. "Come on, we've got to find the bar. If we don't do it now, we won't get another chance for years."

Hower watched the workman edge back down the gantry to relative safety before he felt able to turn away and catch up with his fellow marine.

"Okay, why twenty?" He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Twenty years since the first migrants landed here." They walked across a temporary walkway that spanned a crater the full width of the road. It vibrated under their boots like a sprung floor. "You understand _not out,_ don't you? Don't make me explain cricket to you again."

"I understand cricket just fine." Hower bristled. "What's your problem?"

"Sorry mate. I am just paranoid." Frost replied.

Both of them had done more than a hundred missions behind enemy lines and easily accepted they might not survive the next battle. What was terrifying now was the prospect of being hauled before a very accomplished aged man.

"What do you think he'll want?" Hower asked.

"Don't know, but we will soon enough. But, I doubt he invited us for tea and medals." Frost picked more specks off his sleeve, frowning. "You want N7 marines to do a job for you, you ask for a fire-team. Or a company. A battalion even, but just two soldiers?"

"Well you know how paranoid Alliance command has become lately. Now everything is top secret and will probably be for a few more months at least … considering what has happened. Besides it's just a meeting, it's not like we're storming a beachhead."

' _But why us?'_ Frost checked the tourist map again. "This thing's useless. I can't see any landmarks."

Hower fumbled in his pockets and took out the ancient button compass that he always carried. "Field-craft, Frost. Back to basics. If we can't find a bar, we're not worthy of the uniform."

There wasn't a living soul in sight, not even a rescue or construction worker to ask for directions. The hum of activity – bulldozers, trip hammers, drills – was receding at every street they crossed. The financial institution that should have been standing on the next corner was a tangle of metal joists and collapsed masonry.

There was no sign of live in the plaza, once full of pavement cafes. The shopping center that was supposed to be on Hower's left looked like a slab of honeycomb with the wax layer ripped off. All he could see was the procession of composite block walls, now just a few courses high. Red and white cordon tape fluttered between steel poles. The smell of raw sewage suddenly hit him in the face.

"You lads look lost." A civil defense warden pooped up liked a range target behind a barrier fifty meters away, and Frost had almost reached for his rifle he was carrying.

Hower couldn't blame the man after what both had endured. It was hard to adjust from a place where threats could come from anywhere, back to a calm civilization. There were still pockets of scattered enemy resistance all over the globe. The majority that had been left behind were more or less secured after surrendering.

"Yeah I believe we are," Hower said.

"You are trying to find Bravo-Six?" The warden jerked a casual thumb towards Alliance headquarters. "Wrong direction, son."

"No, we're trying to find a bar," Frost explained. "The Parthenon."

"It's gone." The warden glanced at her watch as if she thought it was a bit early for a drink, then studied Frost's armor, peering at the N7 insignia with a baffled frown. Perhaps the Corps had taken the low-profile special forces thing a bit too far. "What are you then, marines?"

"N7s." Frost paused. The woman apparently didn't seem to be catching on. "Alliance N7 Special Forces. Yeah, marines."

"Oh. Them."

"So how do we get to the Parthenon Bar?" Hower asked.

"I told you. It's just rubble now. They're clearing the site."

"We don't want a drink. We've got something else we need to do."

The warden gave Hower a sideways look. He'd seen similar looks from the civil law enforcement officers on a dozen colonies; the familiarity was comforting, in a way.

"Just keep going that way," she said, indicating forty-five degrees and slowing her speech down. "You'll see a bust station. Its two streets north of there."

"Thanks." Hower was starting to sweat as he walked away. Even though it was barely winter, the humid conditions in the southern half of the continent artificially raised temperatures. His armor was hot as well, the onboard body regulation VI having been destroyed in heavy fighting. Since the armor covered the majority of his body, Hower didn't have the option of rolling up his sleeves.

Frost, despite experiencing the same problem, somehow still looked pristine despite the concrete dust on his elbows and boots. "What are we going to use for a drink?"

"I don't know. Maybe we just say what we have to say and leave it at that."

Since its inception, every N7 squad had created their own traditions for honoring the fallen. Hower's squad had promised to always find a bar closest to the area their lost fell, and raise a toast to their memories. It had been a very matter-of-fact conversation. For N7s, death wasn't a matter of _if_ but a matter of _when_.

' _Doesn't make it any easier, though. Doesn't mean we miss them any less.'_ Hower thought. It wasn't just his own team he was honoring, but all members of the ICT who had perished in the fighting. Never had so many of them been killed in any one conflict.

"Ah," Frost said from just ahead. As soon as they turned the corner and looked up the road, they could see bulldozers at work. "Ripe for development."

Some of the clearance crew stopped to watch them walking along the center line of the road. Hower counted the stumps of internal walls and decided that 21 Strathclyde Street had stood where there was now a ragged crater fringed by the remains of four bright turquoise Doric columns. Frost looked them over, uncharacteristically grim.

"Remind me who decided on this bar?" He asked quietly.

"Stenzke, after viciously tearing anyone apart who disagreed." Hower replied. It was an unfortunate circumstance that the rest of the squad was still recovering from their minor injuries, leaving only the two of them to conduct the ceremony.

One of the construction workers took off her hid gloves and picked her way over the rubble toward them, head down and eyes shielded from the peak of her hard hat. The woman was a nice-looking red-head for all accounts. Hower sometimes tried to imagine how alien he must have looked to a civilian these days, but he could guess from the slight frowns he'd been getting this morning that he didn't come across as the nice friendly boy next door. He decided to let Frost do the talking and stood back to look down into the crater. A pool of stagnant water lay at the bottom like a mirror, busy with mosquitoes.

"What can we do for you, gents?" The redhead asked.

Frost pointed at the complete absence of a bar. "Was that the Parthenon?"

"Yeah. Better stay clear of the edge. You can see it's not Happy Hour."

"We've got a promise to keep to a few of our mates who didn't make it back."

The redhead cocked her head on one side. "We're supposed to keep people out of this road. Safety regs. You know what the city's council is like. But what they don't know won't hurt 'em I guess."

Hower pitched in. They had just half an hour to do this and then make themselves presentable to Bravo-6. "We just want to raise a glass to them, ma'am. Then we'll go."

The redhead stood with her hands on her hips, inspecting Hower. "Did you bring a bottle?"

It was a good question. They'd expected the bar to be open, not demolished, and they'd run out of time to find a bottle shop, as the locals called it. Frost shrugged, doing his lovable rouge look that usually worked on woman. It was a stark contrast to his stoic nature, but perhaps that was his greatest trait as a sniper; able to swap faces and personalities.

The redhead gave him a sad smile and turned to her crew with her hand held out like she was asking for a tool. One of the men picked up a lunchbox from the seat of a dump truck and tossed her a plastic bottle. She handed it over to Frost with due reverence.

"Best we can do, marine," she said. "Go ahead, but don't fall in and break your neck."

After some of the mission Hower had pulled, that would have been an embarrassing way to go. Frost read the label and smiled. "Fruit juice. I am sure they'd see the humor to that. Thank you, we appreciate it."

The clearance crew moved back a little, but they were still watching. Hower squirmed. It felt like taking a leak in public. So what did they do now? All the vague plans to get hammered and reminisce about their squad members had gone out the window, and General Williams would still be waiting.

Frost unscrewed the cap and handed it to Hower. He took a swig – passion fruit or something, warm and fizzy – and handed it back. Frost took a pull and held up the bottle like a glass of vintage champagne.

"To those lost," he said. "The N7. Brothers. Sisters. Saviors and defenders. We will all miss you."

Hower entirely forgot about the audience of hard hats. All he could see was the water trickling form a broken main into the pool at the bottom of the crater. "Yeah, we miss you all. Rest in peace boys, we'll take it from here."

The two watched the pit in silence for a moment, remembering past battles and lives. If Hower pushed it, he could almost hear the laughter from companions long since gone. He shook his head, stepping back; one hand dashed the humidity from his face. If some of the water was salty, no one would notice.

Frost handed what was left of the bottle back to the redhead. "Thanks again, we'll get out of your hair now."

"No worries. I'm sorry about your loss." She paused. "Is it true then? Is the war really over?"

"I don't know." Frost turned and started to walk away, Hower following. "Buts it's pretty quiet out there for the first time since I can remember."

They were a few paces down the road before the clapping started. It was the strangest thing. Hower turned around, and there they were, a dozen men and women in high-viz tabards and rigger's boots, just clapping and looking at them. And it wasn't a general reaction to Frost's comment on the war, either. The workers were applauding _them_.

Nobody said a word. Hower couldn't have managed one even if he'd known what to say. They'd reached the end of the road before Frost spoke.

"That was decent of them."

Hower wasn't sure if he meant the fruit juice or the applause. But maybe the war _was_ finally over. Everywhere they'd stopped off in the last few days, at every shop and transit point, the atmosphere was a strange blend of dread, bewilderment, and elation. Civvies were still getting used to the idea. He'd expected it to be like the newsreels from the end of the Second World War, with people dancing in the streets and climbing lampposts to hoist flags, but that war had only lasted six years, however bloody the battles. The siege of Shanxi had lasted barely a little over two weeks. Not to mention that the batarians haven't signed any surrender or cease-fire yet, so Hower wasn't taking anything for granted.

Frost quickened his pace and Hower matched it, deciding not to tell him he had a splash of mud drying on his pants leg. He'd sort it out later. They headed back to the nearest intact main road to hail a cab. Even in a city smashed to rubble, there was still a decent living to be made from ferrying Alliance personal around, and one of the few places largely untouched by the attack was the massive complex of underground roads and metro tunnels.

The driver who picked them up just glanced at them in the rear-view mirror and said nothing for a while. When he caught Hower's eye, he looked away.

"Were you here when the batarians attacked?" Hower asked, trying to be sociable.

"Yeah." The driver nodded. "Hid in the sewers. Didn't even know where I was when I came out." He licked his lips. "Is it all over, like the news keeps saying? I mean, you'd know better than anybody, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know," Hower said. "But the batarians appear to have fallen apart. Maybe that's the same thing."

It wasn't and he knew it. It just meant the certainties of us and them would be replaced by a ragbag of trouble from unpredictable quarters, just as it always had on Earth. Aliens were a lot more like humans than anyone would like to admit. But, like humans, they could all be dropped with the right ordnance too. That wasn't going to change. Hower was glad there were still some things he could rely on.

After traveling for a few minutes the cab came to a stop right in front of a make shift Alliance headquarters, really one of the few buildings not destroyed and large enough to house all the necessary communication systems. Frost and Hower got out of the cab and paid the driver.

"Come on," Hower said as they showed their IDs to the duty sergeant at a checkpoint. "Let's see what General Williams has in store for us."

* * *

 **New Denver**

 **Shanxi**

 **Refugee Camp**

The pain was too much to stay awake. It was too painful to fall asleep, too painful to merely be alive. Every nerve seemed to be on fire, pulsating as if it were a burning liquid, running through his veins. His memories were still intact though; not everything, but enough to know he was fortunate enough to survive.

The man's head spun when he attempted to open his eyes, so he immediately screwed them shut again. His next breath became a coughing fit until he retched, every spasm punishing him with further intense pain. As if it weren't enough, various other injuries made themselves known, chiming into a chorus of misery.

There had been a sharp pain and then blackness. A possibility of help, of something – _anything_ – that could siphon away the pain. The man forced his eyes to open. His eyelids responded reluctantly, and it took an incredible amount of willpower to force them open, despite the intense pain. Time crawled in the terrible twilight between exhaustion and sleep, so he couldn't be sure for exactly how long he had remained unconscious.

The first thing he saw was a blain, beige ceiling. Tiles of fire-retardant material lined its surface, in a simple but effective pattern. His blue, glowing eyes blinked, now that the initial effort had been made. What had once been the envy of his fellows; thick hair, a strong jaw and smooth skin … now looked more similar to the after-effects of a drug addict.

As he lay on a mattress, he examined his body, noting his uniform was torn, burned, and bloodstained. A sharp pain punished both his back and chest; apparently forcing his body just to keep himself conscious took a great effort. He suddenly became dizzy, the world spinning around him. Automatically, he clutched at his stomach, forcing its contents to stay down. He won the battle, barely.

Slowly the dizziness subsided, and the man tried to force his body off the mattress, the springs squeaking upon every movement. He choked back a curse, his injured body rebelling against the sudden movement. Hunched over, breathe hissing through his teeth, he cautiously began to straighten himself upward. Raising his torso to a seated position took effort but actually standing nearly made him fall face first onto the floor. A deep burning sensation roared through his feet, wreaking havoc on his stability; he had to press a hand against a nearby counter to stay balanced.

He looked down at his right leg, noticing for the first time that he couldn't feel it. Reaching down with one hand revealed that his right shin was damp and felt warm; wrapped loosely with a crude bandage made from the sleeve of his uniform.

Nervously, he stretched forward and pulled back on the legging. His entire leg was covered in a dark layer of hardened blood, now dried and black as the night sky. Fresh blood spilled across it a deep wound, caused by some sharp object placed diagonally on his shin, which was now puckering and swollen with a sickly yellow color. Through the blood, the poor man could see yellow-white muscle tissue beneath and even the hardened bone in the center. He suddenly felt more sick than ever and frantically slid the legging back down, tightening the sleeve being used as a makeshift bandage around his leg as best as he could. Bleeding to death after surviving this long was just an ignoble demise.

"Sir!" Someone yelled.

The man looked up to see a nurse at the entrance of the tent, staring at him with an unflinching gaze. She immediately rushed towards him.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" She demanded, pausing at a counter before striding over. Medical instruments glittered in her hand.

"I need to find my family," he answered, wiping the heavy sweat on his face.

"What you _need_ to do is stay put until you are properly healed. Do you know how much medi-gel I had to use just to stabilize you?" Despite the nurse's authoritative words, her gaze exposed her true emotions. He'd always been good at reading those; it came like the body that responded to exercise easily, and laughed at the thought of illness.

He understood well; he was just one of many that had managed to survive the massacre that had devastated the colony. How many bodies had the nurse seen? He didn't know and felt horrible that he simply didn't care; he just needed to make sure his family had survived as well.

"I presume quite a lot."

The nurse scoffed. "More than you would think." Reaching down she undid the makeshift bandage, applying what he recognized as a disinfectant spray, along with a vial of anti-biotics before wrapping it in a new bandage. She graciously said nothing of his refusal to watch; merely making sure she did her job properly.

"There, that'll hopefully take care of it for now." She said, satisfied with her work.

"Thank you," the man said.

"No problem, sir. Just try not to make it worse." She picked up the bandage, taking the tainted materials to be disposed.

"Wait!" The man tried to take a step, only to stumble and nearly fall before once again using the nearby mattress for support.

The nurse rushed towards him once again. "Didn't I say to be careful?"

The man ignored her. "My family, I need to know; did they make it?"

The nurse picked up her tablet, an eager look on her face now. "What were their names? Perhaps I or one of my colleagues have already treated them."

"Eva and Eric Harper."

The eager expression froze, sliding into an ice-like mask of stoic regret. It was ironic, how removing as much emotion as possible could instill such terror in the man.

"I am sorry," the nurse murmured. Her formerly cheerful voice dropped into a melancholy timbre, familiar to medical specialists the world over.

"What? Why!? What happened – are they alright?" The man demanded. Without permission, his heart began racing at extreme speeds, terror gripping the organ more surely than when he'd been fighting.

"I – just came from treating a woman with that name. She … didn't make it." The nurse flinched as his face fell. "As for the boy … he died assisting the defenders. From what I've been told, he was a true hero."

"What!? No … no … my son, he was only…"

Her hand came down gently, touching his shoulder with all the grace of a feather. "Eleven years old, I know."

The man fell backwards, hitting the mattress far harder than he should have. Rushing emotions jostled for supremacy; anger, no fear. Heartrending sorrow … the light of his life and the balm to his heart … gone ….

"I am truly sorry for your loss." The nurse stepped back, studying the man carefully. Suicide watch was becoming almost a daily rule in the days following the invasion. "If there is anything I can do, write a letter, lend an ear … please … just let me know."

"No, it alright," the man murmured, still numb. "I took them to a military base evacuating civilians … thought they'd be safe. His birthday was just a couple of weeks before the invasion began."

The nurse walked away, as quietly as she could, mostly likely in search of other patients to treat. He would survive, or he would not. The great curse of healers was never more obvious to her: sometimes, you couldn't help.

As for the man, he continued to sit on the mattress, mentally trying to take in the news. It wasn't long before tears started rolling down his face. He covered his mouth with a fist, to avoid being heard; others had suffered as much as he, possibly more. But no man could withstand the loss on such a personal level and remain whole. The wounds of his body could never match those of the soul.

The tears slowed, but never stopped flowing. He angrily swept them away with his sleeve, then noticed a necklace lying against the counter. Its edges were bent, the metal twisted by war … like himself. Its former pristine appearance was damaged beyond repair; it even still bore the deep indentation of a mass-accelerated round that had failed to fully penetrate the metal.

His fingers, trembling slightly, picked it up as gently as if it were a newborn. The jewelry rolled in his hand, tipping from side to side under his gaze. A long scar, running from edge to edge bisected the emblem neatly, almost an exact comparison for his own heart. He blinked, memories rising from beneath the black cloud. It was a gift he'd given to his son for his eleventh birthday just a few short weeks earlier. Once the light in his life, now his eternal tormentor – as long as he drew breath.

' _No.'_ His fist tightened on the metal. The pain helped, distracting from the agony nothing could really dull, wounds that were deeper than any knife could reach. It wasn't … he couldn't … his son.

Images flashed before his eyes; gunfire, the bravery of a young man and inability of an entire government system to defend him. Uncaring monsters, laughing as they took yet another prize, no matter how much it begged.

Rage boiled, driving away the pain. Standing was easy now, the leg injury almost forgotten.

 _'I'll make them pay,'_ the thought burned deep into his mind as new found strength filled his body. _'No matter how much it takes, no matter the cost, I will have vengeance. By the hand of humanity, or my own. The batarians will pay! Maybe then … I'll have some peace.'_

The man tugged at the name tag stitched to his uniform. It resisted, as if trying to hold him back. He took a firmer grip, and heaved, ripping it free, pulling until it lay in his palm, next to where the medallion had rested. The letters, once so familiar seemed so alien now; no wife or child to call him by those words again: Jack Harper. He began ripping it, shredding the material.

The man known as Jack had died with his family. He was no loyal husband, caring father; _they_ had taken such things away. Many had died on Shanxi, and one more joined them, leaving behind … nothing. A ghost dedicated to seeking vengeance. There was nothing else left to do.

* * *

 **A/N:** What now! What now! I've got you all again! I got you so good, so good! My one regret is that I can see all of your ridiculous expressions right now! I bet some of you can't even type! And the delivery, I bet some of you have a WTF expression while others are probably crying because this chapter has emotionally ruined you!

For all those readers that thought the E.F chapters were pointless and added nothing to the plot, who's laughing now!? Whose getting the last laugh!? What it is the score of surprises I've pulled one you? Three? Four? I've literally lost track!

But in all seriousness, hell of a way to kick of the new arch and for those of you that wanted a break for the action how is this? Here we evaluate the aftermath of the attack and see how some characters deal with it and what routes they will take later in life. Also do you think that I've done a certain particular character justice? Hmmmmm? Who knows what will happen now?

Anyway, my partners and I am indeed back and hope the wait hasn't been too long for you guys. I also hope both old and new fans love the direction we are taking the story or greatly enjoy the material presented in this chapter alone. Remember we care about your feedback.

 **Trivia:**

1\. I bet some of you weren't expecting, even as you were reading, that first contact with the turians would be peaceful, eh? Another surprise, even if a minor one filled with increasing tension.

2\. Hower's and Jack's POV were made due to review requests to see the civilian side of the war and we get to see just that. So lesson here? Always review, you may never know when it will affect the story. Also, I got you all so good, so good! I am never going to get tired of this game!

3\. Hower's POV was inspired by a chapter in Halo Grasslands, which yes I've bought. Regarding the book itself, I think a few things should have been altered and it would have made the story great, for those of you that are curious about my opinion just PM if you want to know more.

4\. Also the decision to have Eric, who we see in the E.F chapters during the Shanxi War arc, to be related to our favorite Illusive character was made as we were writing the war arc. Plus we have an actual and justified reasons, character development, and sympathetic nature to Jack's transformation to another loved and hated character that we see in the main games. (Eh? Anyone catch the reference? ;) Seriously though, it's painfully obvious so if none of you catch that, I honestly worry about you)

5\. Originally the _Tesla_ had QEC communications, but was later changed to the tight-beam communication system that is found in the final copy of the chapter. This was done to show how rare QEC systems are and why they are found primarily on stealth or capital ships. (Yes I know I wrote the _Tesla_ as a capital ship and its exactly that, but QEC go from one point to another and the _Tesla_ would need to communicate with entire fleets, so I hope that makes sense for the change) Plus as we already know from Dain's suffering, the Alliance is very stingy when it comes to coffee so chances are they would also be in other areas.

6\. For those with keen eyes, you will catch how Corinthus pretty much tricked Spencer into giving some info on how well united humanity is. It's not much, but it shows that the turians here are a force to be reckoned with, while also being incredibly polite. Much like the British who once brought entire empires crumbling down, while also offering well-made tea. XD.

7\. Originally there was supposed to be a short little aftermath arch dedicated to just two chapters, but we figured we can squeeze all of that in one nice long chapter. The title is a nod to the idea and we hope this chapter has been enough to quench your thirst after a long wait.

8\. As of now, I've purchased 14 books, ranging from non-fiction and fictional military, in order to bring you guys the best I have to offer. So seeing as I how invested about $100 dollars on books, the least thing you guys can do is write as many reviews as possible. (Disclaimer: In no way am I profiting off of reviews. They are the work of independent writers.) Yeah I couldn't resist making fun of that, I just had to.


	19. Chapter 19 - Political Landmines

1–15–2157 0600 hours (Alliance standard calendar)

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **Union Embassy**

Councilor Soliris was not an easily disturbed woman. It was a trait of those with shorter life spans; fast adaption was a way of life. Soliris had long learned to take grave news, political ambushes, and sudden meetings without so much as blinking an eye. She processed new information and put it to use quickly and efficiently at a pace that amazed even other salarians; 'prodigy' was the word often used. That was just one, among many reasons, why she had enjoyed a meteoric climb through Union politics, and why she had been chosen amongst all the Dalatrasses to represent the esteemed salarian race on the galactic stage.

She threw off the heavy thoughts, and stepped out of the elevator, entering her own private office on the Presidium. The well-designed room had served many previous salarian councilors; she made a mental note to make another sweep for any bugs her predecessor may have intentionally left behind. While ancient, the room design captured the beauty of salarian designs prior to meeting the asari. Its contours and curves complemented the crystal glass rather nicely. The office maintained cutting edge surveillance systems alongside C-Sec guards at every entrance and exit, along with a rotating configuration patrolling the perimeter nearby. A similar set up existed in the asari and turian councilor's office, albeit with a few key differences.

The entire office was designed to present a complex symbol of salarian prestige and ingenuity through the millennia, showcasing pieces artwork dedicated to some of the most renowned salarian heroes. Legends such as Silent Step and Ever Alert held positions of honor, although the subtlety of those artistic renditions may have been too elusive for the average visitor. Those heroes served as a reminder for the entire Union, of salarian intervention and influence that had long kept the galaxy a safe place, ensuring the continuity of galactic civilization. The Union was crucial to the advancement of civilization, despite the few setbacks it may have inadvertently caused.

Councilor Soliris saw her aide sitting at a nearby table, data-pad in hand, attention focused unwaveringly on the device before him. His whole demeanor displayed concern, causing his frown to deepen.

Soliris walked to his side.

"Are you alright, Valern?" She was careful to watch his pupils; they'd always been a weakness, although he'd been improving as of late.

Valern looked up, demeanor brightening as it always did. "Good day, Councilor. I trust that you slept well?"

"Not in the current state of the galaxy," Soliris sighed soberly, taking a seat opposite of Valern.

Valern was the most dependable and trustworthy individual with whom Soliris had the pleasure of working with. At a mere fifteen years of age and fresh from higher education, Valern lacked any real political experience, but he made up for that disadvantage with competence and increasingly growing intelligence. While most males tended to shy away from politics, going to the STG or other fields out of preference, Valern seemed fascinated by the prospect of political maneuvering and manipulation. Many Dalatrasses had complained of a male obtaining one of the highest salarian positions within the Union, but Soliris used that as a test, trusting Valern to find ways to keep them silent.

"Did you pass along my message?" Soliris asked.

Valern looked back at his omni-tool. "I'm afraid not Councilor. The turian embassy appears to be extremely preoccupied at the moment." He tapped his omni-tool, playing back a recorded message.

" _I'm sorry, but Councilor Sparatus is unavailable right now. There are no openings in his schedule for today, and we cannot arrange meetings in the immediate time frame. Regrettably, we must ask you to contact our official embassy services to arrange an appointment more in line with the Councilor's schedule. We thank you for your patience and apologize for any inconvenience."_

Valern ended the recording with one digit. Soliris just sat there, feeling extreme annoyance. The turians were treating her like a side-problem; a Councilor!

"What sort of nonsense is that?"

Valern just shrugged.

"Try his direct line. At this rate they'll keep us waiting for decades, and we both know I don't have _that_ much time."

Valern pursed his lips. "I apologize, but that will not work either. I've already made several attempts to do so, but the turians have become unusually reclusive as of late. Councilor Tevos' aide reports the same thing: no contact."

"And what about the volus? I'm sure the turian's will listen to their own money." Soliris suggested.

Valern shook his head. "Ambassador Din Korlack has also reported that the turians have failed to meet with him on multiple occasions as well."

Soliris fell silent, thinking. "Clearly, something is not right. If the turians are not willing to talk with their own protectorate ..."

Valern rotated the data-pad and slid it over. "That's not the worst of it. Yet."

 _High Priority Message from STG Operative: Sharp Eye_

 _The Hierarchy has redirected 60,000 troops and seven battle groups to the Attican Traverse. An estimated two-hundred plus number of transports, carrying an overabundance of goods, have departed to an unknown location, but Friend/Foe trackers indicate they may be headed for Relay 314. A fully armed, mid-sized naval taskforce has also been seen escorting the transports to the unknown destination. Reasons for these events have yet remained unknown. Will report with further details as they are uncovered._

"It seems the turians are acting secretively with no clear reason," Soliris stated. "If the Volus are also being kept in the dark, it makes me wonder what the intentions of the turians might be … and if the Citadel is safe."

Valern frowned, but did not disagree. It was clear that the turians had the military capacity to stage a coup, but what kept them from doing so was that they would lose more than they could ever gain if the salarians and asari were disposed. The guerrilla battles due to the asari alone would cripple at least half of the Hierarchy; the STG would utterly destroy the rest.

He shook his head. "Wouldn't that be counterproductive? The damage they would sustain from the combined forces of the Asari Republics and Salarian Union would be too much for so little gain."

"That is what concerns me. The lack of obvious motive or logic in the turians actions." Like most salarians, Soliris hated being blind and making decisions without a full picture of the situation. It was a common enough flaw, for salarians.

"I'm sure the Union is already taking the necessary precautions, but we are the players on this side of the field." Soliris assured her aide. "Come, we must leave." She stood up and started walking to the elevator.

"We are we going?" Valern asked, visibly confused.

"You said that we could not achieve communications with the turian embassy; so we are going to go there physically." Soliris' eyes narrowed. "Contact Councilor Tevos, and request she meet with us on the way."

* * *

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **Hierarchy Embassy**

Councilor Soliris and Valern were waiting just outside the turian embassy, gathering attention from passersby. As professionals, however, they ignored the attention with an almost extreme act of nonchalance. Whatever the turians were hiding, they would found out about it.

"How much longer?" Soliris asked.

Valern checked his ocular implant, invisible to watchers but perfectly clear to himself. "The asari Councilor should be here in a few minutes," he replied.

His predictions were proven correct when the Councilor herself soon appeared, her stride both confident and elegant. Her own aide stayed a step behind and to the right, fitting for her station. They came to a stop before the salarians. "Councilor Soliris, it is good we could meet under such short and uncertain circumstances," Tevos said with a half bow.

"Indeed," Soliris responded honestly. "I hope the Republics have taken the necessary steps in the event the Hierarchy may need to be persuaded to share what they are trying so hard to keep a secret."

Tevos looked to her aide nodding once before returning her gaze to the salarians. Her aide stepped forward and handed them a data-pad before stepping back again. "Several large Republics' banks are ready to threaten massive sanctions upon the Hierarchy and many more are ready to recall any loans they have failed to paid," Tevos explained. "I trust that you understand our loyalty to old allies, but since we have agreed to your request, you know that you must also acquiesce to one of ours."

"Understandable," Soliris responded, crossing her arms. "But I would like to get to the bottom of this. Anything worth causing unease within the Hierarchy is a cause for concern."

"Indeed." Without so much as another word Tevos began striding off towards the turian embassy. Soliris and the two aides followed closely behind. Once they neared the embassy it was easy for them to spot the many differences surrounding it. There were at least seven more C-Sec patrols, in addition to the normal number, moving around the facility diverting prying eyes from the building. The window bulkheads were sealed tight, clearly highlighting privacy to be a top priority. Considering that the building now resembled more of a fortified base rather than an actual embassy, it was clear the changes had to have been subtle.

It actually made Soliris ponder why the changes had not been reported earlier. Or if they had been seen at all. Had the observation been contracted out to non-STG personnel?

Soliris and Tevos exchanged worried looks before wordlessly making their way to the main entrance. Directly in front of them were five C-Sec guards all well armed, stolidly motionless. The group walked up to the guards only for what appeared to be leader step forward motioning them to halt.

"Councilors Tevos and Soliris, it's a pleasure to have you both here," the officer stated. Based on his quick response it seemed as if he was already expecting them. "Allow me to introduce myself, Sergeant Picus head of the Third Citadel Security patrols." He placed a talon over his chest and gave a short bow.

Tevos returned the polite gesture before quickly getting to business. "We are here to meet with Councilor Sparatus with urgent matters that cannot be delayed. Please lead the way to him at once."

"I apologize, Madame Councilor," Picus quickly replied. "The Councilor is currently in meetings with the Primarchs and must not be disturbed. He sends his sincerest apologies for any inconveniences this may cause. His busy schedule prevents him from taking any unexpected visits. If you would like to arrange for a meeting more in line with his schedule, we would be happy to take care of all arrangements."

"Unfortunately, it is my turn to apologize sergeant, but that is not possible. As I have said, we have urgent matters to discuss with our colleague and will not be delayed," Tevos responded with polite force. Her calm posture did not betray her current agitation, centuries of experience taught her to mask her emotions.

Councilor Sparatus wasn't the most social individual, but even he would never refuse an audience with another councilor, unless… he was ordered to by the Primarchs themselves? A unanimous – or near unanimous – vote by the Primarchs was similar to the Convocation of Dalatresses, or perhaps when the Republics achieved a majority agreement. But what would the Primarchs have against the Councilors of their allies?

' _By the goddess, what is going on?'_ Tevos thought, liking the situation less and less.

"Sergeant Picus, we _must_ speak with the councilor, so lead us to him or step aside," Soliris stepped forward, clearly running out of patience.

Picus fidgeted slightly, highlighting his crumpling will. He looked to his subordinates for support, who stood erect and ready to carry out his orders. He then turned back to the Council representatives. "I'm sorry councilors, but my orders are to-"

"We don't have time for this," Soliris interrupted, barging right through the officer. The sight of a slender salarian forcing their way through a line of burly turian C-Sec officers would have been comical if not for the seriousness of the situation. "Tevos, follow me. I'll de-claw Sparatus with my own hands if I have to."

Tevos gracefully slid past Picus, joining Soliris in moving forward, only to be stopped by another set of guards. They each held outstretched limbs to prevent the Councilors from advancing. Normally a C-Sec officer would hesitate to lay a finger on a dignitary; especially ones as esteemed as the Councilors themselves, but it appeared their sense of duty overrode any contradicting beliefs. Seargeant Picus caught up with them, standing with his men.

"This is growing tiresome!" Soliris exclaimed. "Sergeant, I will warn you once; if you do not let us see the turian Councilor, the repercussions will be severe to both the Citadel and the Hierarchy. Is that what you want?"

"Never," Picus replied without hesitation.

"Then on behalf of the Council, I order you to let us pass this instant!"

Picus visibly struggled to make a decision; for turians, it was the ultimate battle of duty and loyalty – the blessing and curse of his people. Evidently he appeared to make a decision, and stepped aside, his subordinates doing to the same. Soliris and Tevos continued onwards, going deeper into the embassy while their aides stayed behind.

It had been a great deal of time since either Councilor had set foot into the Hierarchy embassy, but they both seemed to know where they were going. The embassy was like all turian architecture, incredibly organized and ordered to the point of being unnerving. Every centimeter of the structure was designed to make the most efficient use of space possible or to allow its guards to quickly fortify any of its routes. Overall it was very bland with little attention paid to anesthetics and nothing seemed to capture the councilors' attention. Asari would have held similar designs, but with fewer choke points and more artwork; the salarians would have reduced the entire complex to long hallways and security passages … but this was turian. Everything served a specific purpose, part of the greater whole much like turian society itself.

Turning a corner into the embassy proper, the two councilors were introduced to an uncomforting sight. The embassy proper was filled with extra desks for a great deal more turians than what Tevos or Soliris considered necessary. Additional communication arrays had been set up alongside the main desk, manned by turians that failed to notice their arrival. What were most notable were the guards in the room at every exit. The distinct onyx colored hard-suits and top military grade hardware left no room for errors in assuming who they were, the Hierarchy's legendary Blackwatch. They were utilized only in the most critical of battles, where failure was not an option. Their presence on the Citadel, secretively no less, was a step shy of openly declaring war – the Citadel was a crucial asset by any strategic analysis after all.

Soliris noticed the elite soldiers weren't wearing their traditional insignia's, possibly in an attempt to deceive visitors. She struggled to hold in a laugh; only the most naïve of individuals could ever be deceived by that trick. Still she had to hand it to Sparatus, without proper identification neither they nor any other ambassador could legally bring attention to these forces; any measly excuse could be made in order to discredit any allegations.

' _Perhaps that was the idea, not to deceive but to avoid any official inquiry. My Sparatus, you are far more deceptive than you appear,'_ Soliris thought.

"What are Blackwatch soldiers doing on the Citadel?" Tevos whispered. "And more importantly when did they arrive?"

"I have no idea, but I'm adding it to my list." Soliris responded. Behind her façade she was greatly discomforted by the demonstration of turian stealth. Perhaps C-Sec being exclusively turian was a bad idea?

A turian approached them, coming to a stop and saluting as befitting of a superior officer. "Greetings Councilors, I am Captain Thesian Vidinos. I have been sent by Councilor Sparatus to serve as an escort. Please follow me if you will." Vidinos proceeded to move past them and back the way they had came, leading them away from the elevator.

"Where is Councilor Sparatus?" Tevos questioned. She made sure her voice kept in the lower registers; not quite in the commanding quality, but conveying her irritation.

"In a secure room at the back of the complex," Vidinos replied.

She nodded. His short, but direct reply was something she could appreciate under the circumstances.

As they walked further down the corridor, an unseen scanner read Vidinos' biometrics and opened a previously concealed door. "This way please."

The Councilors' reactions were a direct opposite of each other. Tevos was astonished by the secret door and made a mental note about it without breaking her expression. Soliris on the other hand wasn't surprised in the least; already aware of the secret entrance thanks to the STG. Though, she would have never had thought that Sparatus would ever actually use it considering his personality. If that was the case then something was clearly wrong. What both Councilors had in common however was being greatly irritated by the circumstances.

As they walked through the small disclosed corridor, Vidinos tapped a code on his omni-tool, resulting in the door at the end slid open. Voices carried from within, some angry, others conciliatory, but all serious. He stood to the side, waving the Councilors onward. They proceeded through the door and into a large conference room.

The voices immediately ceased, the vocal atmosphere replaced with lingering silence as attention turned to the councilors. Both Tevos and Soliris realized that every turian in the room was of high rank, either as a military officer or politician. Councilor Sparatus himself, sat at the head of the table, tapping away at the holographic controls and removing projected star charts that neither Tevos nor Soliris recognized. But, Soliris was able to send a rapid glance over them before they completely vanished, able to retain a perfect visual memory thanks to her race's photographic memory.

"This meeting will have to continue later, dismissed," Sparatus ordered.

Every non-Blackwatch turian in the room rose, saluting in one fashion or another before turning to leave. Their expressions were neutral, giving minimal indication of their mode. The door slid shut after the last turian left, leaving only the Councilors and the guards.

"Councilors, I wasn't expecting to see you today," Sparatus said. He stood, respectfully.

"It must be. We had started to believe that you had grown tired of seeing us!" Soliris responded.

"Nothing of the sort. As a matter of fact, I was just about to come visit both of you once my duties here were finished." Sparatus gave a small smile to his colleagues.

Neither Councilor returned Sparatus' gesture, Soliris' cold gaze meeting his eyes. "Is that so? Well I for one would like to question exactly _what_ thoseduties are."

"Common procedure regarding security nothing more," Sparatus responded.

"Is that why the Hierarchy has been behaving erratically lately?" Tevos asked. "Why there are so many questions arising about your behavior?"

"I'm sure I have no idea-"

Soliris jumped in before he could mount a verbal defense. "Why has the Hierarchy raised all fleets on high alert across their territories and deployed seven battle-groups to the Attican Traverse?"

"As you already know, the Hierarchy has been pushing for increased patrols in Citadel space in order to secure the Traverse once our races begin expanding once more," Sparatus responded. "We are merely thinking ahead to the future."

"Is that so?" Tevos followed up her colleagues attack. "Is that why your government has placed a full tenth of reserves back into active service? Over five million soldiers?"

"Tevos, we-"

"And have already deployed a significant amount of forces and supplies to what appears to be Relay 314," added Soliris. "Tell me – what exactly became of the Second Fleet?"

Sparatus mandibles twitched in surprise. Even Tevos was caught by that news, her experience kept the most of the expression from being betrayed on her face, but Soliris could see her cheeks flush involuntarily – nothing an inobservant turian would notice.

"How do you know about that?" Sparatus' voice was steady, but intense.

"The same way I know that you've been refusing to meet with Ambassador Korlack," Soliris replied.

Sparatus remained silent, clearly unnerved by the amount of intelligence his salarian colleague held. Perhaps he had underestimated the STG.

"Do you understand how the recent behavior of the Hierarchy has made the Union very uneasy?" Soliris stated. "I've received many messages from multiple Dalatrasses. They aren't asking permission, they're simply informing me that they intend to deploy STG operatives and prepare to launch pre-emptive strikes, should their worst fears be proven. Sparatus, do you know _what you have done?_ "

This elicited a response from Sparatus, albeit small scale. He sat up rigidly, his attention firmly set on Soliris. It wasn't so much as her statement, but the implications were known to all present.

"Very well." Sparatus's shoulders slumped. "I was ordered to prevent you from learning the truth for as long as possible," he sighed once, but long. "Under the circumstances I think we have withheld the information to an almost dangerous degree."

Sparatus straightened himself out professionally and replaced his demeanor with his usual self. "Exactly five galactic standard days ago, the Second Fleet came into contact with a large group of Terminus pirates who had the audacity to actually activate and utilize Relay 314. Admiral Servius followed them through it, to see what he could find."

"And what exactly did they find?" Tevos asked.

"The remains of the Hegemony Sixteenth Fleet, the pirate fleet, and not one but two space faring races." Sparatus clicked one of the buttons on his console, "Admiral Servius was forced to engage the rogue batarian fleet and the pirates, since they refused to surrender peacefully. As for the newly discovered races – Servius proceeded cautiously, doing everything he could to assure them that we were not affiliated with the batarians nor did we condone their actions."

"Councilor…" Tevos began, her frantic eyes betraying her calm composure. "Do you mean to tell me that the turians not only discovered two new intelligent races, but have already begun establishing relations without informing us of the situation?"

"Technically yes," Sparatus replied. "However, considering the many laws the Hegemony had broken, not to mention perhaps giving the new races the worst impression of the Council races, we believed it was best to first assure them of the situation and de-escalate any tension prior to informing the public. We didn't want to have another Parnack incident after all, and since our force was the only one near, we thought it best to gain as much information as possible."

"Sparatus," Tevos narrowed her eyes. "You do, of course, realize that your people have usurped the First Contact department? The section devoted solely to scenarios just like you describe?" she shook her head in disgust. "The fact that your race has discovered _two new species_ and neglected to inform the Republics is an abysmal failure! What were you thinking?'

"As I have stated before, it became a circumstance of security and convenience. The Hierarchy believed it was in the best interests of the Citadel to quickly obtain dialogue and information from them."

' _More like in the Hierarchy's best interest,'_ Soliris thought, but chose to say nothing. Unlike Tevos, she quickly realized the eezo mine that the turians had stumbled upon. Whatever technological, scientific, or artistic innovation these races may have cultivated, the turians would be the first to reap the benefits. She had to hand it to Sparatus, he had risen far, far above all of her expectations.

"These races," Soliris said, changing the topic from her colleague. "What can you tell us about them?"

"Only what they have chosen to share, and I dare say it is truly remarkable," Sparatus stated with pride.

Giving the equivalent of a turian smile, Sparatus pressed several keys on his terminal for a new image to be projected before all three of them, showing a creature in a full combat hard-suit that was very similar to the asari. In fact the resemblance was striking.

"By the goddess," Tevos whispered in shock.

"Very interesting indeed," Soliris added, raising a hand to her chin, using the other to support her elbow.

"Yes, I can understand the sensation. The similarities are indeed startling. Of course DNA files they have provided confirmed that while levo-amino based, they have no relations to the asari. They are however capable of producing biotic individuals, great numbers in fact despite not being inherently biotic." Sparatus explained.

Tevos circled the projection, taking note of the similarities between their species, but also of the distinct differences. The hair that replaced the head scalps, the different basic skin tone and texture especially. Aside from those differences, nearly everything else was practically identical to an asari – finger count, facial structure, basic proportions ….

' _No, they resemble bulkier quarians rather,'_ Tevos contradicted herself in thought. Openly she said nothing, unwilling to complicate matters further. Unlike the other Councilors, given their species shorter life-spans, Tevos had lived long enough to have actually seen quarians without their enviro-suits.

The humans seemed taller and possessed a more sturdily build than the quarians. Their facial structure and hair were practically identical to the wandering nomads, complete with lips, eyelids, and tear ducts. The only noticeable differences between the two were the quarians bent legs and the number of digits on their appendages.

"I certainly was not expecting this," Soliris stated, great interest plastered over her face. "What else can you tell us?"

"They are a bi-gendered, mammalian species. They have a very robust physiology. Physically they seem on par with the batarians while being more agile, but not as lean as the asari. Their metabolism is faster than all but the salarians. They appear to have better stamina, but on are par with turians for endurance … but their most notable traits seem to be their genetic diversity and an ability to adapt. A well rounded species to be sure. Their military doctrine is also impressive, using novel tactics and technology to suit their needs. It's very surprising considering they are relatively new to space-flight and mass effect physics."

' _Leave it to Sparatus to ignore true scientific discoveries in favor of military tactics, but I suppose he can't help it being a turian after all.'_ Soliris was already imagining what experiments could be conducted, intrigued by the limitless possibilities.

"What of the other race? You said the Hierarchy had discovered two," Tevos said.

Sparatus pressed a different set of keys to display another image. The new creature was vastly different than the last, appearing reptilian with an impressive physic. Its two-meter height gave the creature an imposing presence. To Tevos, it appeared as if it were a hybrid of a turian and krogan. Its eyes were placed to the sides of the head, while sharp talons were clearly visible at the ends of its hands. The creature was clearly stronger than an average turian, yet had the physical build to outrun a krogan. The signs of an apex predator were obvious.

"These beings call themselves the Raloi. These bi-pedal reptilians are renowned for their sense of smell. As you can see, they are clearly superior in muscle mass while having the build necessary for speed. Of course, the drawback is that they aren't very flexible, and their stamina is average. Military wise, it seems they generally prefer to use a combination of offensive and defensive tactics in order to secure ground while simultaneously keeping the enemy from becoming too organized. An interesting note is that they tend to prefer tropical climates, but are known to handle extreme weathers." Sparatus clearly directed that last statement to Soliris, who merely gave a scoff.

"They clearly have the brawn, but we'll see if they have the intellect." Since salarians were an amphibian race that predominantly preferred tropical climates, the raloi could either be considered a potential ally or a grave threat to the very existence of the Union.

"So far Servius has only been in contact with the humans, the raloi have chosen to be … reclusive … not that I can blame them," Sparatus said. "However, we learned from the humans that they and the raloi maintain diplomatic, economic, and military ties. Their government's name is the Systems Alliance, a clear sign that they share the same relationship as our three races do. The fact that two young races could develop such a coalition, even if minor, is impressive."

"I agree, though I believe we have already wasted enough time as it is. Sparatus, I presume Admiral Servius has invited them to the Citadel?" Tevos asked.

"Yes of course."

"Then I believe we should do our best to prepare ourselves for the occasion. I will be in talks with the Matriarchs about the situation and see what gifts we can give to our would-be honored guests. Sparatus, if you can, update me with any new relevant information," Tevos said, already making her way towards the exit. In all her centuries in foreign diplomacy none have been as taxing and stressful as this day has been.

* * *

 **Turvess**

 **Tyran**

 **Kongre Atrium**

"The structure of the Council is meant to benefit the top caste while the lower associate races squabble in buffoonery. Therefore based on the information we have learned, it is clear to me, honorable senators that any allegiance to this Council would only bring about the ruin of our people."

Durak Ilgaz, the Vekil Representative from Rivain, now having spoken for some length, resumed his seat at the small podium facing the gathered senators. He bowed slightly, acknowledging the calls of support and applause from the right side of the chamber, where his fellow party members sat. Other than that segment, the assembled senators remained quiet.

If one were to enter the massive chamber from a newcomer's point of view, they would note that while the room was completely circular, it held seats in only half the room.

The crescent moon shaped amphitheater held its five hundred members in multiple tiered levels. In this fashion, the auditorium allowed every senator and vekil to have a seat, as well as allow an audience to easily see everything. Acoustics, carefully designed over the course of time, were almost perfect; allowing a single pin-drop to be heard from anywhere in the chamber.

A few meters away from the center floor, there was a small podium upon which was a chair; reserved for the Vekil if one needed to ask. Along the wall, between the twisting columns, were red banners, hung from the roof and decorated with sparkling rims and golden tassels on the bottom. On each banner was a golden avian creature, its head looking sideways with its wings spread, its claws gripping two green, crossing laurels. Between the laurels, in golden letters, were the founding initials of that great body: S.T.I. It stood for Senato ve Turvess Insanlar: The Senate and the People of Turvess.

Having heard the Vekil, First Electore Phaux rose to his legs. Despite what many considered to be ancient at almost a century and a half years old, he moved with the grace of someone half his age. His position, curse or blessing that it was, consisted of controlling the floor: choosing who had the word, and keeping the unruly senators in line.

"Vekil Durak Ilgaz has put the motion on the floor. Who will second it?" His old voice croaked like primordial being, low and commanding. Immediately several senators in the back sprang to their feet, offering their support.

One notable raloi, younger than the majority of his peers, watched the scene with keen shoulders hitched slightly, barely hinting at his disgust. The Consul's cronies were so quick to assist their 'humble' leader, sycophants in deed if not thought.

Etos Marae continued to watch as more and more of the consul's supporters added strength to their master's argument, completely disregarding its lack of substance. Despite being one of the youngest consuls present, a mere twenty-three years of age, Etos was well on his way to becoming one of the most influential members of the Emek party. His seat at the front, signifying his position as an esteemed member of the Kongre, gave him a clear view as Vekil Durak resumed his seat.

Its location gave Etos his greatest advantage, letting him read every minuscule twitch and move of the Vekil to determine his true motives. This uncanny ability, to observe body language of his colleagues and deduce their agendas was the reason he had risen through the ranks so quickly. In just two years, he had gone from an obscure – some would say – a very young child, to one of the ruling forces in the Kongre. His 'Increased arms production proposition' had been miraculously approved, thanks to current circumstances and had quickly expanded his influence. In fact he had been an instrumental figure in calling for the Confederacy to align with the humans' Systems Alliance. If the others were honest with themselves, it would be certainly fair to say that Etos was a force to be reckoned with, one that has been gaining momentum.

Etos allowed himself to feel a surge of satisfaction; he was a force the Vekil had not anticipated, perceived as a non-entity. It was an attitude he'd permitted to proliferate … until now. When the floor became available, Etos rose to his feet and spoke.

"Honorable Electore! I request the floor!" There was a moment of shuffling as all the senators turned to look at the young man. More sounds from the audience chamber, not quite as well-disciplined continued long after the senators stopped moving.

The primordial creature stared at him, shrewd eyes that had seen over a century of political machinations. The eyes smiled, but the rest of the body remained perfectly aloof; one of the many reasons Etos held him in such respect. "The floor recognizes the Vekil of the second parish of Ferelden, Etos Marae. You have the floor!" The Electore banged the long wooden quarterstaff in his right hand against the floor.

Etos cleared his throat, raising his head so that his voice would carry in the large room.

"Fellow senators, honorable members of this exalted assembly I believe that the most respectable Vekil of Rivain makes a fair point," he paused, letting murmurs arise from the ranks of the men and women assembled, but he quickly continued. "However, I also believe that he fails to see the potential repercussions of his proposition."

At his words the hall became silenced, he had their attention now. With his special gift, he could see the angered scowl of the older Vekil kept hidden, despite the years of experience honed through years of political struggles.

Etos continued walking down the steps as he spoke. It was an old trick, the most significant portion of his speech would come at the podium itself; people knew that innately. "Since the birth of our race, unity, cooperation, and mutual aid have been the foundation on which we grew."

He reached the podium, fully visible to the gathered politicians; a small turn of the head ensured the audience held a profile view of his features – priceless posturing in the grand scheme. "These words are the embodiment of our confederacy and reflect the very essence of our culture, our heritage that has stood for countless generations."

He paused again, holding the senators attention. Seeing that most were indeed listening closely, he continued, making gestures in theatrical fashion as he walked along the edge of the podium, turning from the audience to the consuls in turn. "The fact that we are outright taking an isolationist stance, dismissing all other options prior to a simple proper meeting with the Council is preposterous! Have we forgotten how we came about to become a space faring nation? Or how we held the line at an alien world, gathering valuable allies in the process?" Several senators and even a few consuls began to sit upright, nodding approvingly at the young raloi.

Etos' voice began to grow louder and more confident, taking advantage of the visible support. He spun, robes flaring and theatrically pointed an accusing finger at the older consul, including the seats occupied by the older man's supporters in his gesture.

"For too long the honorable Vekil and his respectable party members have held us back. By rejecting the increase in military spending over the years, they have allowed our people to grow weak and vulnerable. They have held us back for decades and now they seek to block a chance to become part of something greater." He turned back towards the senators sitting on the balconies, seeing uncertainty on their faces.

Etos directed his next words to them; the art of rhetoric demanded he incorporate as many possible. "I understand the fear many of you have regarding this Council and many of their decisions. I agree skepticism is the best course of action; however we cannot simply judge their merits based on the past alone. Aligning with the so called Council and its Citadel could usher in a new age for our people, an age where we carve out our place amongst the stars. For us to deny the Council an audience simply because we are _afraid_ , to deny any alternative due to _fear_ , is nothing short of cowardice. I would deem it outright treasonous to our people!" He closed his talon in a gripping motion over his heart and gave the assembly a pleading look, using quieter tones. "We must not let the fear of cowards and old men hold us back from our potential. If the raloi do not have strong leadership, our unity is broken and we will quickly descend into bloody anarchy."

He raised his voice once more, "Therefore I vote _against_ the motion to not send an ambassador. Let us be wise and cautious yes, but let us _not_ hide under the stones in terror." Etos returned to his seat, slumping slightly, almost unable to contain his smile. Many of the senators rose to their feet, shouting either encouragement or decrying his attack. Several of the gathered started shaking their talons at each other.

First Electore Phaux had to call for silence several times before the assembly calmed down sufficiently for him to be heard. When everyone had finally resumed their seats and silence had returned his hoarse voice spoke up. "The honorable Vekil Etos Marae has spoken against the motion." He turned his attention to Durak and looked at him expectantly. "Does the exalted Vekil Durak Ilgaz offer a rebuttal?"

The shocked Vekil quickly regained his senses and rose to his feet. "I will hardly offer this pathos-oriented argument any notice." He looked disapprovingly at Etos before continuing. "However I would like to clarify for the gathered assembly that we are not here to talk about abolishing any contact with the Citadel, merely that we as a people should decide our own future." He resumed his seat looking smug.

Waiting a moment to make sure that the Vekil– a man who would usually speak for hours on end – had truly nothing more to say, Phaux turned towards the assembly. "If anyone has anything further to add to the discussion make yourself known!"

When none rose to take the floor, the First Electore slammed his ornate quarterstaff on the floor and made the announcement: "The motion to avoid establishing contact with the Citadel has been put to the floor by the Exalted Vekil Durak Ilgaz of Rivain, seconded by numerous senators of his party. Vekil Etos Marae of Ferelden has spoken against the motion. All those in favor, vote now."

Etos saw the Rivain Vekil and his supporters make movements, using the time-honored system built into the desks surrounding the amphitheatre.

Several minutes later, the ancient speaker slammed his staff against the floor once more. "Those opposed to the motion, vote now!"

Etos pressed the crimson icon on his holo-pad. He was slightly concern that he couldn't see what the tally was for either side, but confident his point had been made. Win or lose, his reputation would rise; either as a rising force that could stand with the powers of their time, or as a strong, independent voice that had to be reckoned with. He turned expectantly towards Electore Phaux and awaited his judgment.

Etos could see Phaux reading the results of the voting; timeworn shoulders still unbent by the years. The markers were imprinted digitally on a screen attached to his podium for easy access. "With two hundred and twenty three in favor and two hundred and twenty five against … the motion to stop all proceedings with the Citadel has been dropped."

Cheers and thunderous applause, combined with angry cries of denial echoed through the chambers. Eto's back was pounded and his hand nearly shaken numb by congratulating senators. He couldn't help, but smile and nod while they complimented him on his victory.

 _'That was too close for comfort.'_ He smiled once his eyes scanned the older Vekil, slumped in his chair with a look of utter defeat on his face. _'It's a good thing you don't realize how close you were to beating me, in fact it would be for the best if you never do.'_

When the noise quieted in the hall once again, Phaux made another announcement. "Now then onto the next course of business. Who shall we send to represent our race?"

Many senators turned their heads towards Etos. It was obvious they believed him to covet the glory of such a thing. _'There gonna love this.'_

Standing from his chair once again, he made a bold declaration once again. "Honorable Electore, may I speak?"

Phaux gestured, "Vekil Marae of Ferelden has the floor."

Etos bowed acknowledgement, exchanging a smile with the old one. "Fellow senators and consul, I believe I have an idea that all may find agreeable."

Many perked at his statement while others rolled their eyes at what they believe would be another over the top performance. Yet none could expect Etos to deliver a roaring proposition, one that has never been done before.

* * *

 **A/N:** Another cliffhangar! Don't you people just love me? I was originally supposed to have this up on Monday last week, but college got the better of me. Anyways you get to see things from the Council's and the Raloi's government perspective and you can see each has reason to be cautious.

I am going to address a few guest reviews, keep in mind I can't do this every chapter as a guest can review chapter 1 and I can't really go and edit it to address the guest. I read all reviews and if a guest leaves a simple praise its not a big deal however if they have a question then that presents a problem because then I can't respond. So for future reference if you have a question, but leave a review as a guest then I need to have some form of contact info so I can respond to you. That being said here we go.

 **Guest (Sep. 9) -** I already have many units we have to juggle, both human and alien so while Endwar online units would look like a good addition there is a thing as having too much so for no the answer would be no, due already numerous units.

 **Guest (Aug. 22) -** The SA corvettes have a main energy cannon that is 30 petawatts. I am aware the strongest laser that we have is 2.3 petawatts, but those type of lasers given their size would be outfitted on ships. To draw a comparison the E.F have lasers as a giant satellite cannon, the main weaponry on their spacecraft, used as a secondary weapon on their tanks and IFVs, and finally E.F troops have lasers as opposed to grenade launchers on their rifles.

While I haven't specified the exact concentration of the beams on anything other than the main cannon of the ships, that is so it can be open to interpretation. So just because I don't state the E.F is using lasers at 2.3 petawatts doesn't mean they don't have lasers that are more or less powerful. Adding a laser such as the one in Japan on a dreadnought, I feel, wouldn't work because such a weapon would take up power from other systems and for something with such low energy it wouldn't be beneficial. If you make the laser more powerful, then that means even more power would be taken and chances are there will need to add more power generators exponentially increasing the cost to operate such a dreadnought. When you design a military vehicle its not just the amount of firepower it can dish out, but how well they can serve their purpose without being tied down by the weight of their arsenal.

That being said, the Telsa is a super carrier so adding a main cannon wouldn't make much sense.

Anyway I hope you guys are satisfied with my answers. Now on other business.

I have a question for all my reviewers, do you guys think Andromeda will work from a lore perspective?

We all know the limitations of ME Relay travel and even the Reapers aren't capable of FTLing to other galaxies. I mean I am sure they can reach other galaxies, but that would be due to them being machines and with 30 lightyear travel it would take immense time. There is also the thing of not being fully aware of the state of the Milky Way galaxy which I feel is required in order to know why Andromeda is happening in the first place. Basically a why and how Andromeda is happening.

There is also the issue of possible plot holes. If there are other intelligent life in other galaxies then why didn't they try to harvest them as well? Why only limit yourself to just the Milky Way galaxy? Another thing is whether you are successful or not, how will others in the Milky Way be aware?

I am confident Andromeda will be a great game, I am just worried of Bioware having to juggle, ignore, or really stretch explanations given how they've limited themselves due to the writing of the original trilogy. Another thing is we don't know when the events of Andromeda occurs which is another important detail.

Finally, and this is just for me. What about the art that has been released? Our main ship, the Tempest, has been revealed and I feel a little disappointed. The reason is that it looks 90% similar to the Normandy and I really wanted it to be its own thing. It would have been nice to have a new model.

Likewise the new Mako looks nothing like the old one, yet it bears the same name. Why? If its a different vehicle a new name designation would be proper. Its why the M60 Patton and M1 Abrams have different names despite being tanks. Anyway let me know your thoughts,

 **Trivia:**

1\. The Council POV in this chapter was heavily inspired by 'Mass Effect: Invictus' by General Meridius, which is in turn inspired by 'Predestined' by Eterna1soldier. Both are excellent pieces of work and I recommend you take the time to read them. It's also a shame that they appear to be dead-fics as well. However, for those of you that have read 'Mass Effect: Invictus', you can clearly see some distinct differences between my version and his, such as the Council's thoughts of humanity and the raloi as well as of course the heavier emphasis of detail.

2\. In this chapter we also see turians breaking away from the stereotypical truth-bound species we all know, love, and/or hate. This is to show that while they are honorable and truly believe in upholding peace there are times when it can conflict with the Council's own rules and that is a element I wish to explore.

3\. We also get to see Vidinos, a character from Mass Effect 1 and the leader of a spec-ops turian unit from the ME3 war assets.

4\. The raloi political POV was inspired by the book 'Give me back my legions', which dwells into the Roman expansion into Germany and Northern Europe. Ironically, while it is meant to be a military heavy book there is very little action, 90% of the book deals with politics. I also inspired by the fic 'Empire of Man' by Holland93.

Can we get those fics completed by the way? I mean I enjoy reading fanfics too you know.

5\. The word Kongre, used to describe the Raloi type of government, is Turkish for Congress. My partners and I are basing the Raloi off of the Ottoman Empire to make them feel distinct as you can already see by the type of words we are using. Yes I am aware the Raloi have a confederacy and the Ottomans had an empire, I said basing off of not making a carbon copy.

6\. The word Vekil is Turkish for delegates, don't you all love the things you are learning?

7\. Given the previous trivia note you can guess that S.T.I. or Senato ve Turvess Insanlar is indeed Turkish for The Senate and people of Turvess. See us Americans can be quite knowledgeable of other cultures.

8\. Finally, Emek is Turkish for Labor so now you are all even more educated.

9\. Etos Marae's name was inspired by a star system, all I did was butchered it. Unfortunately I forgot the name of the star system so for those of you curious, sorry.


	20. Chapter 20 - Plans Set into Motion

1-17-2157 0849 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **Republics Embassy**

Two standard galactic days later had passed since the turian embassy incident. Fortunately, the events following had done great things in placating the alliance of two species. The blame for the whole mess itself could only be placed upon the Hegemony after all; a fact all three Councilors were quick to agree upon.

After Councilor Tevos had left the embassy, she discreetly informed the Republics of the situation. Secrecy was almost required, to quietly force the batarians to the same negotiating table as the races they had just attacked; a scenario the four-eyed beings would avoid with all of their considerable guile. She sent out messages via Quantum Entanglement, to some of the most respected Matriarchs – particularly of Armali and Thessia, including a somewhat risky message to several on Illium; their 'indentured servitude' contracts were of considerable debate throughout asari space. However, once she had informed her government of what had transpired; it was obvious what their response was.

They had achieved a consensus to meet upon, and take the name of, the Armali colony, convening under the heaviest security seen in millennia. Some of the Matriarchs were certain it was possibly the tightest since the discovery of the Turian Hierarchy. The revelation of the crimes performed by the Hegemony only grew as the meeting continued.

The Armali Council was furious.

Under the circumstance, the Republics deemed it necessary to dispatch teams of asari commandoes to the Citadel; in order to neutralize any Hegemony threat presenting itself. Assistance to such highly valued allies came in the form of STG cells being activated, some intercepting or outright hacking batarian communications – obtaining even more incriminating evidence. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the perspective, the only individuals who knew about the catastrophe were high ranking officials in each of the councilors' government. However, the Hegemony would no doubt be doing its best to come up with a cover story. History was written by the victors, and the Hegemony had a long habit of pulling victory from the jaws of apparent defeat.

Additional factors needed to be considered. The public had yet to be informed, and the Council wasn't about to release the blow they were preparing before it was ready. Since the Systems Alliance possessed no line of communication to the Citadel, much less a presence in Council controlled space, Tevos didn't have to worry about them broadcasting their side of the story. Regrettably this meant that any and all communication between the two parties required the turian's Second Fleet, currently stationed as a deterrent near the Relay 314, to act as intermediaries.

Tevos was no fool; she easily recognized how the Hierarchy was using the situation to their benefit, trying to appease the new races while at the same time appearing as heroes. Once the Hierarchy's discovery was made public, not only receiving credit for discovering another space faring civilization, but also being seen as saviors in the eyes of the public. It was a nice PR stunt with the added benefits of un-quantifiable magnitude with the new civilization; something about which the Armali Council was discussing with an unacceptable amount of frantic mania.

If her sources were correct, the Matriarchs had elected to move faster than they had in centuries, beginning preparations to bring the Hegemony to the negotiating table by nearly any means possible. Matriarchs learned an extraordinary number of tricks during their long, long life-spans, and while it was quite possible the Hegemony would refuse to cooperate, the Republics would still be seen as the heralds of justice, standing with the Systems Alliance. The batarians might threaten to leave the Citadel as they were no doubt prepared to throw a tantrum to avoid responsibility, but whether they did or did not follow such an ultimatum, Tevos would not allow her people to be engulfed in a bitter conflict

She sat at her office's desk, looking through the various reports provided by Sparatus. Tevos had attempted reading some of the reports several times, but could not overrule her impulses. Disgust filled her mind at what she had read thus far. Aside from the Hegemony's violation of one of the Citadel's strictest laws, there were reports of mass murder, rape, torture, and even orbital bombardment of _a Class-1 Garden world_! The first and final actions broke nearly all of the Citadel's bedrock conventions. And to do so in the face of the turians, the most law-abiding and draconian member no less, meant that any action held by the non-turian members would almost certainly be devoted to restraining the turian bloodlust.

To make matters worse, the orbital bombardments were conducted _after_ the batarians had achieved orbital supremacy. That fact alone spoke more than most realized. Orbital bombardment, under the most excusable circumstances, was conducted solely upon significantly powerful threats to ground forces, or on potential threats to orbital supremacy. The after-action reports seemed to state that once the human defenders had lost the battle of attrition in space – after inflicting significant damage to batarian forces – they had continued to resist pacification. It was noted that among all the tactics used to engage the batarians, the humans had shown no preference between either hit and run engagements against high priority targets, or straight out brawls. They had shown an easy mastery of situational conformation, when the odds and conditions favored them.

Tevos thought about that last fact. The humans had shown they understood the difference between tactical situations and strategic victory. And yet they had restrained their thirst for vengeance to a single warning volley when the turians had arrived.

' _An adaptable adversary, not just in combat, but in mind as well.'_

It was not uncommon for a military to adopt tactics that benefited the situation at hand; there were many notable examples by the Citadel races themselves, demonstrating how to swap out usual doctrine to achieve the results desired. But the reports sent by the turians highlighted the remarkably small amounts of time required by the humans to swap tactics, and the extreme precision in which those strikes were performed. It was no wonder the turians had taken an immediate liking to them, possibly even seeing the humans as the sword to their shield.

In her mind, Tevos knew that a race so skilled in the art of war could potentially be a serious threat to Citadel space. Given what the reports were suggesting, the humans would be more than capable of causing significant damage to the batarian infrastructure and society – although she was equally certain the Hegemony would wreak a terrible price for its downfall.

More disturbing was the paucity of information on the two species themselves. The humans had given a massive quantity of data on themselves, enough to convince even the most paranoid of salarians of its veracity. But there had been practically nothing pertaining to the Raloi. By travelling several light-days from the human colony, Turian analysis had spotted differing energy signature residues from various points of conflict. That seemed to indicate a fairly segregated society, if the two powers allowed their infantry to maintain separate methods of destruction.

But the surface had seen multiple _nuclear weapons_ detonated … and that terrified her almost as much as the orbital bombardment reports. A species so vicious as to inflict atomic fire on their own soil? The Hegemony had truly selected the wrong target for … servicing.

But in her heart, Tevos held a desire to ensure that such events would never be needed to take place. She looked over to her aide, Milesia, whom was organizing various pieces of information in a more-coordinated manner, ready for inspection. A brief moment later, Milesia became more alert, grasping a data-pad with a perplexed look.

"Councilor, you may want to take a look at this," She said, gesturing to the data-pad in her hand.

Tevos waved her over, preparing herself for whatever information wished to present itself this time. A moment later, Milesia hurried over, placing the pad on the desk in front of Tevos's interested gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise; the information before her seemed to hold the best theories to explain why and/or more importantly, _how_ the humans were able to provide such a fierce resistance for such a young species.

" _Theorem on Human Naval capability"_

 _From information we have received from various sources, we have begun to theorize why this species has been able to develop such a keen mindset for naval tactics. This remarkable capability must not be an inherent quality but rather a learned cultural phenomenon, gathered over many different occasions resulting in their current capabilities._

 _Information that we have obtain about the human home-world suggests that approximately two-thirds of its surface area is covered by large bodies of water. Yet, there are sources claiming the human home-world is covered in more land than water; a conundrum that must be resolved._

 _However we have deduced that this second claim may either be purposeful misdirection or a possible reference to another garden world under their control. For example, we have learned that their home-world is known as Earth, located in an – as of yet – undisclosed system. The planet itself has a described atmosphere almost identical to that of Thessia and a very similar mass._

 _To explore this, additional consideration should be given to the (at least) two other named planets in this system: Venus and Mars._ _[Team Note I: given the vernacular terminology typically used for naming conventions, we theorize the names are either of royal ruling bodies, or of deities no longer worshipped. These names appeared in two areas of the data packet, see "History: Mythology" for further information.]_

 _Venus appears to be a potentially Class-VII garden world, based on data given by the Alliance and noted for its physically nigh-identical quality to the human home-world Earth. They seem to possess a similar size, mass, proximity to their native star, and composition bulk. However, Venus appears to have a radically different atmospheric composition, rendering it uninhabitable._

 _Mars on the other hand, appears to have a smaller mass compared to the other two planets, and is a stark contrast to Earth with little to no natural bodies of water. Due to its natural composition, Mars falls under Class-2 for garden worlds with heavy need for terra-forming._

 _[Team Note II: It is possible that unlike other races that seemed to possess only one habitable planet in their home system, the human's remarkable speed at achieving interstellar travel can be partially attributed to having two garden worlds in their system, a decisive advantage for raw material harvesting.]_

 _Returning to the home world; the humans are suspected to have developed a keen mind for naval tactics through conflicts on Earth – either through small scale skirmishes similar to those reported as occurring shortly after contact with the Hegemony, or through large scale deployment with the various craft we have documented as appearing shortly after the first turian encounter at Relay 314._

 _The history packet has strong references to three separate global conflicts we believe developed this naval mindset into what we have seen exemplified by Relay 314. Palaven Command seems highly interested in the human's use of a particular vessel, a design experimented upon by the quarians prior to the Geth Uprising._

 _According to the notes, this curious vessel appears to have been first used approximately two centuries earlier on their home-world. The version seen by Relay 314 is at least 1 kilometer in length, very similar to a typical battle cruiser. From the turians' observations, this design seems to incorporate very little offensive weaponry, but it does possess the full defensive capabilities expected of a battle cruiser class vessel. The key point reported by the turians, is that the vessel itself carries large numbers of multi-role fighters, heavy bombers, and even large quantities of drones._

 _These strike craft – no larger than thirty meters in length – are launched in large numbers to reinforce their fleets and act as force multipliers. A fleet that possesses the initial advantage without the strike craft would quickly lose that advantage as these strike-craft are deployed from a safe distance. These large ships then act as a refueling, re-arming, and possibly even as light repair stations for larger vessels as well._

 _This vessel has the logical designation of 'Carrier' by the humans; its applications are astronomical in terms of naval warfare. We theorize that this vessel was first conceived on their home-world before they developed any space capable craft, even exploration shuttles [Note: Second World War is first point of referral]._

 _While inconclusive, this analysis should give a sound theoretical foundation for future potential musings. More information regarding the Alliance's tactics will follow in the next report, along with suggested tactics for effective countermeasures._

 _~Dr. Adrian Gallus, Chief Scientist, Xeno-cultural studies, Pralague Solutions, Lmtd._

End Report.

"Milesia prep a sky car, we're heading back to the turian embassy," Tevos ordered with new found vigor.

' _Time to set plans into motion, before events progress too far for any possible peace,'_ she thought.

* * *

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **Hierarchy embassy**

Councilor Tevos sat in the sky-car, one hand covering her mouth in thought as she looked out the tinted window. A mass of conflicting emotions mixed within her. Worry, that the Hegemony's actions destroying any possibility of peaceful relations with a space-faring civilization before the Council had a chance was foremost. It was closely followed by a deep anger at the batarians grotesque performance. Her only hope rested on the Alliance being willing to settle on a compromise, and the batarians willing to see reason … variables that compounded each other into hopelessly exponential realms of improbability.

She pursed her lips. _'The humans and raloi are children, compared to the elder races. Their own records testify to that … assuming they did not lie. I true, they have been a space-faring species for only a fraction of the time we have. If only we could get a chance to guide them, help mentor them on how to wield their influence correctly, as we did with the eclor and hanar.'_ She sighed in frustration, an expression she allowed only in the rarified company present.

"Are you alright, Councilor," Milesia asked with genuine concern. She leaned forward ever so slightly on the seat opposite Tevos, concern in her eyes.

Tevos released a heavy sigh. "I'm not sure what to make of all of this," she replied. "First we thought the Hierarchy was mobilizing for war, only to learn a worse truth." Tevos involuntarily let her worry crack through her voice, momentarily losing her façade. "What if this 'Alliance' wishes to declare war on the Hegemony? Do we stand by our own laws and leave the batarians to fend for themselves like we did with the quarians or do we defend the Hegemony despite their crimes? I just don't know what to do."

"Councilor," Milesia's voice was calm, intent, "I realize that your position puts you in an enormous amount of pressure, but please keep a clear mind. Without it any chance for peace would be destroyed."

Tevos couldn't resist the urge to smile. Her assistant had grown over the decades; no longer the young, wide-eyed neophyte. It had been an excellent choice, allowing her to become an acolyte.

The skycar quickly descended onto the embassy's many landing pads. Through the vehicle's window, Tevos could see outside the main entrance where a significant number of C-Sec patrols still stationed themselves. Not enough to warrant attention by reporters, but enough to leave an impression.

A hissing sound indicated the door of the skycar opening, allowing her to exit. Tevos and Milesia walked along the landing pad to the nearby entrance into the embassy, careful to keep their hands visible; diplomatic incidents had occurred over less cautious individuals. A pair of C-Sec guards stiffened as they approached, offering a salute to the Councilor. The second set of guards opened the door between them, the metallic door sliding easily to allow passage. Tevos strode inside and heard the guards muttering into their comms, no doubt alerting its security of their arrival.

It wasn't long before she was welcomed by a familiar face.

"Councilor Tevos, it's good to see you again," Vidonis said, standing to greet them. "I have standing orders to guide to Councilor Sparatus. Please follow me." He swiveled on his feet and then began to lead the way.

On her way across, Tevos noticed how the Blackwatch guards that were present yesterday had decreased significantly. She also noticed how Vidonis was not posted outside, but further inside where his presence would be less conspicuous. He led Tevos and her aide directly back to the hidden conference that they discovered yesterday.

"Captain, just how long has this conference room been hidden here?" Tevos asked.

"I'm not exactly sure Councilor, but I probably couldn't tell you even if I did." Came the response from Vidonis. "I apologize."

"Do not worry captain," Tevos assured. "I do not hold your actions yesterday against you. After all, each government has its own secrets."

They came to a stop at the end of the hidden corridor again and the door slip open revealing the conference room, and yet another change. Yesterday, it had been filled with high ranking officials from the Hierarchy, and now it was all but vacant. Analysts from both the Hierarchy and the Union now filled the chamber, soft murmurs of their susurration rising and falling. Councilor Sparatus was once again sitting in his chair at the head of the dais, but this time he had Councilor Soliris at his side. Thankfully, the atmosphere was far less tense than the day prior.

Tevos could see Soliris' aide, Valern at a distant table with another turian, discussing something. As she approached, the unknown turian soon became recognizable as Councilor's Sparatus' aide, Quentius. She frowned. Whatever the matter they were discussing, they seemed to be at odds over it.

"Ah Tevos, please come this way." Sparatus beckoned as he shifted his attention from the holographic display to her, and then swiftly back down.

It was the display that caught her eye, the same star chart that she had briefly seen yesterday as she had entered; only this time it wasn't being hidden. She moved alongside Sparatus and Soliris, the latter of which appeared to be speaking into an earpiece. Tevos focused on the system highlighted by the display, noticing its unknown position for the first time. Despite having visited literally hundreds of systems in her time, this one was still unknown.

"Is this their home system?" Tevos asked, looking directly towards Sparatus.

"On the contrary, this is the system that the batarians invaded," Soliris dropped the connection immediately. Tevos wondered briefly how the other side of the conversation appreciated that fact, then put it out of mind. "Both the humans and raloi have been reluctant to share such vital pieces of intelligence, and any data sent between them and the Hierarchy's Second Fleet appears to have been thoroughly swept by the humans. STG has been unable to locate so much as their population number or how they've been able to possess eezo efficient starships." It was clear by the dejected tone in Soliris' voice that she was far from pleased. "Long-distance reconnaissance has failed to penetrate their security, their firewalls are formidable."

"It seems they are quick to learn," Sparatus began, never once taking his eyes off the holo-image. "Any information they withhold would be a major bonus during negotiations, though I suspect the reasons are far more practical."

"What do you mean?" Tevos asked.

"It's clear, even now as we are assisting them with rebuilding their colony and providing security, that they don't trust us. Already they've stationed another fleet in the system, increasing their total to over three hundred ships." Sparatus flicked his mandibles approvingly, "More of their larger-style vessels have arrived. I doubt the Hegemony would be capable of a victory at this point, even without the Second Fleet."

Tevos frowned. "Goddess, do they really need so many? I was under the assumption that Admiral Servius had eased their concerns."

"He did, but …" Sparatus gave a heavy sigh, "I believe that having the codex taught the Alliance that the batarians are part of the Citadel."

"If that was the case," Soliris folded her arms, "then surely it would have been better to have given them a half-complete codex to avoid complications."

"That would only work on the short-run and only give the Alliance more reason to mistrust us." Sparatus's voice dropped into a bitter growl, "As I have said numerous times before, we should have kicked the Hegemony from the Council long ago."

"What's done is done." Tevos switched the subject, "Have there been any latest developments?"

"Yes of course," Soliris replied as she tapped at the haptic interface's control. "We were just beginning to look at this ourselves."

The holographic display seemed to zoom outwards from the human controlled system to view the cluster it inhabited. The display then shifted to highlight regions to where Relay 314 linked, extending the known connections to the next Relay, culminating in a white patch beyond that enveloped considerable territory. The amorphous mass fluctuated at the edges as the VI continually recalculated, assessing known, dormant Relays and the entirety of active Relays.

"Impressive isn't it?" Soliris asked no one. "We can theorize with seventy percent certainty that both the humans and raloi are very new to mass effect physics, a century at most. Given that we have not heard from them before, and we _know_ that the other Relays surrounding this are dormant, this is the maximum possible area they could have taken unmolested since their entrance to the galaxy-at-large."

"It's not as large as any of the Council races' own territory mind you, but it is extraordinary," Sparatus remarked.

Tevos frowned. "From the information I have received, I understand that we have an … introduction, to a new type of vessel do we not?"

"The Carrier vessel yes, but that isn't all!" Soliris exclaimed. Her fingers tapped at the controls in a mad frenzy.

This time the holo-display showed the garden world Humans called 'Shanxi,' with turian fleet signatures resting in defensive formation around the system's Relay. Immediately, hundreds of new signatures began to snap into existence around the planet with two distinct profiles. Several groups of cruiser sized vessels blinked into existence, surrounding the few dreadnoughts at the heart of the alien formation.

' _My already possessing three dreadnoughts? Hopefully they do not posses more than associate races are allowed to field.'_ Tevos thought. The Treaty of Farixen was one of the more formidable sections of Council legislation.

The display stopped, focusing on a particular ship. Its size seemed to be that of a typical heavy frigate within the human formation. However, the algorithms analyzing the ship in the display brought up images, descriptions, and scans of the vessel.

Within seconds Tevos was able to catch an unusual addition to the vessel. "Does that ship …"

"Absolutely," Soliris answered. "The humans apparently named this ship-type the _Destroyer_ and rightly so. What's unique about this vessel class is that, unlike any ship class we use, the Destroyer possesses two mass accelerator cannon!"

' _Fascinating, that they have such technological skill.'_ Tevos was genuinely impressed. Despite their youth, this new civilization had already created two unusual types of vessels.

"This class of human vessels appear to be anywhere between seven and seventy-five meters larger than a frigate, and carries much more mass and weapons." Soliris explained. "It appears to utilize heavier armor and weaponry to take far more damage than anything comparable to its size."

"Indeed," Sparatus keyed a different sequence. A trio of the alien ships froze on the projection. "Unlike standard Citadel doctrine," he began. "The System Alliance uses the Destroyers in packs, similar to how we use our own, smaller, frigates. Given the offensive nature of the human Destroyers, any engagement limited to just our frigates and their destroyers will be a one-sided massacre."

"Hopefully such a thing will not occur." Tevos responded. Despite her calm demeanor, worry grew. The asari navy often used fleets primarily composed of frigates and corvettes, specializing to harass opponents in a hit and run style. If the Systems Alliance possessed a vessel class designed to nullify asari naval doctrine, the Republics would have to develop new strategies. She could begin to see why the batarians had such a hard time waging war on the new races.

"Of course these vessels pale in comparison to their larger cousins." Sparatus mandibles twitched wildly. Whether it was in excitement or worry, Tevos couldn't be sure. The display then automatically shifted to yet another human ship.

The vessel itself looked heavily armored and equal to any dreadnought in existence. The specifications scrolling alongside the digital projection were astonishing, to say the least. The ship itself was labeled 'Battleship' as if it were an archaic bit of hardware from a forgotten age.

She took a moment to read the abbreviated reports hovering silently I the background … which caused her eyes to widen. "I don't believe this," she admitted, looking at Soliris for clarification.

' _No one, not even the turians have been able to produce such a heavily armored dreadnought with two main cannons no less. The capabilities of this race only seem to mount higher and higher…_ _are they too dangerous? Is that what they are trying to say?'_

Its heavily sculpted armor resembled a thick-sculpted body of ancient gods, while its twin Mass Accelerator cannons highlighted a gargantuan power; if its capabilities matched its appearance, it would be a true menace in space. The firepower of this vessel alone most likely held the power of two standard dreadnoughts, assuming sacrifices to troop carrying capacity were made. Unlike the general plans for dreadnoughts she'd seen, this seemed to be a ship designed solely for naval warfare. It was easy to imagine why Palaven was so keen on getting into the good graces of this government.

"I know, it is impressive," Sparatus stated. "But that is not the only thing." He pointed, "Take note of the Alliance fleet's flagship."

The display changed to show a ship that broke all understanding of Mass Effect principles, attaining a length far larger than any ship ever thought to be possible to build.

' _By the goddess … that cannot be possible!'_

The vessel under watch of the observing sensor soon began to open large bay doors. As the display narrowed on the super carrier, she eyed what was emerging from the bowels of the large vessel and readily felt a shiver down her spin. Erupting from the ship's underside were entire ships, miniature in number, but enough to give her pause. A small escort consisting of entire corvettes and frigates soon erupted from the super carrier's hull, standing in full glory around their mother ship.

The display continued briefly before it froze, and then restarted from the beginning. Bay doors opened once more, releasing the craft again and again.

Tevos was visibly shaken by what she had just witnessed. A vessel, one so large that it was capable of carrying at least a portion of its own escort. She looked at Sparatus for an explanation.

"We know how you feel Councilor believe me. Palaven Command knows how you feel, which was why we tried establishing relations prior to informing anyone else."

The turian Councilor's reasoning wasn't perfect, but Tevos could understand the desire to keep this information under wraps. Aside from the astonishing discovery of a new civilization, it was one that not only broke Mass Effect physics, but utterly threw out a millennia worth of naval doctrine and merely written their own.

' _What has the Hegemony unleashed?'_ Tevos couldn't comprehend the batarian's logic. They were always miscreants, but at the very least they had demonstrated a highly developed sense of self-preservation. Not once in their entire relationship with the Council Races had they pushed the Hierarchy into war – a delicate balancing act that also showcased Hegemony diplomacy - but now they just might have awakened a sleeping giant.

Tevos looked at her colleagues in despair, centuries worth of experience unable to keep her fear hidden. "We have much work to do."

* * *

 _ **SSV**_ _ **Bagration**_

 **Battleship**

 **Command Deck**

With a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and data-pad in the other, Admiral Kastanie Drescher walked onto the bridge. The two marine guards saluted, prompting an acknowledging nod as the bridge doors slid open at her approach.

As she stepped past the threshold, the familiar sounds of the _Bagration's_ command and control center drifted into her ears. Keystrokes on holographic keyboards, the crackle of comm. channels, and the quiet conversations between crewmembers filled the air. She took comfort at the sight of walls bordered by operations terminals, and those that worked them. The central holo-tables and forward view-ports, which gave a clear view into the blackness of space, were operating above expectations. Above all, her beloved _Bagration,_ a next generation battleship named after a famous Russian general of the Napoleonic Wars,had earned yet another set of scars to add to its accolades. This was her element, the place she had most felt at home in years.

Drescher's eyes met with Chief Petty Officer James Pressly, commanding officer of the _Bagration's_ marine complement. His shoulders went back, snapping to attention and raising a crisp salute while the rest of the bridge officers did the same. "Admiral on deck!"

Drescher touched the hand holding the data-pad to her temple and gave an easy smile. "As you were."

She settled into her command chair and took a swig of her coffee. As usual, it was bland and bitter, but the Alliance's stingy pockets couldn't be helped. What _did_ matter though was that the energy from the caffeine started having immediate effect. Setting the drink down the armrest, Drescher began to thumb through her data-pad, checking for any important messages.

The tiny device boosted her spirits too, in its simple existence; such things had been the fodder of gifted writers and far-seeing inventors, solely in the imaginary realm … until recently. She studied the data-pad again, noting its rectangular shape, complemented by the synthetic reading supports. The entire contraption was connected to the _Bagration's_ computer network, sending and receiving information everywhere she desired with just the flick of a wrist.

Scrolling down, she noticed she had received a message from Admiral Spencer. Clicking on it, the message appeared in full detail.

 _From: Admiral Michael Spencer_

 _To: Admiral Kastanie Drescher_

 _Subject: Re-assignment._

 _Greetings Admiral Drescher,_

 _Now that we have established semi-relations with the turians, I have received authorization from Arcturus for contingencies. In short, you have been selected to accompany the Alliance delegates to the Citadel. Based on your stellar record, it is my belief that you are the best choice to represent humanity on the galactic stage._

 _This is a prestigious opportunity; we must ensure mankind establishes good relations while making our case known to the Council. Demonstrate the best our race has to offer, but do not let the Council neglect justice for the vicious attack on Shanxi._

 _Your ship VI will have all the necessary information you need for this assignment. You should also be aware that General Williams has assigned the delegates a security team, a distinguished N7 team that has proven itself on Shanxi._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Admiral Spencer. Commanding Officer, Fifth Fleet._

The moment Drescher finished reading the message she struggled to hold back her irritation. Holding the bridge of her nose helped, aiding her to focus on simply breathing. What Admiral Spencer had so eloquently said could be translated in simpler terms: the diplomats, and their rivalries, were her responsibility now.

She sighed, and then opened her eyes, letting both hands fall in place. The officers, as good crew did, had already perceived her distress and stood ready. She managed a half-smile for them. "I've just received our new orders from Admiral Spencer himself." She took another fortifying another sip of bitter courage. "We've been … _fortunate enough_ … to have been chosen to babysit the politicians as they make their case to the Council." Her eyes made contact with each officer in turn. "I want the ship top notch for when we leave. Make it so."

The officers barely gave enough of a salute to count before scattering, like a flock of sparrows before a hawk's arrival. Drescher brought up her ship's VI and began scrolling through the data. To her pleasant surprise, she learned that both a destroyer and corvette complement would be acting as escorts.

' _At least the brass isn't taking any unnecessary risks,'_ she thought. The turian _codex_ appeared on her tool, in all of its imposing girth. _'Now to do my own due-diligence.'_ The thought was distasteful; she'd enrolled as a military leader, not a sociologist. Still, as she had with every other assignment before her, she threw herself into the preparations.

Lieutenant Holms, the comms officer, swiveled in her chair so that she was facing the admiral. "Ma'am, a shuttle is requesting docking clearance with the _Bagration._ Its carrying N7 marines."

"Authorized," Drescher ordered. "Once they dock, send the marines to the bridge ready-room. I want to brief them in person. Any update on the delegates?"

"Arcturus forwarded their flight plan; the _Campoformio_ departed four hours ago."

The remaining minutes passed quickly and in relative silence with the bride crew waiting for their guest's arrival. The bridge did not have wait for long, the N7 marines wasting little time in reaching the bridge.

Drescher stood up from her chair and made her way over to the marines.

"Admiral, Alpha squad reporting for duty." The entire N7 team snapped to attention. It was somewhat eerie, how the marines were not fully visible in the darkened room. The low-level lighting combined with their jet black armor gave them an almost ghostly appearance, like the wrath of hidden terrors just waiting for a moment's distraction.

It wasn't the result of idle speculation either. Drescher had read up on the group's exploits. The N7 marines were veterans of Shanxi; reports told how sixty of them had infiltrated and obliterated an enemy corvette, despite heavy losses. Their combat record indicated they were deployed across multiple fronts, fighting in every hot-spot on the center eastern sea-board. General Williams' trust in them was easily understandable.

"At ease," the admiral said, reaching for the holographic table and motioning to the others to get closer. "I've received this from the Admiralty." She pointed to the hologram of the message. "It seems that the Alliance and the Confederacy have been invited to the Citadel to formally present ourselves regarding the war for Shanxi."

"It smells like a trap," Stenzke commented, crossing her arms. After everything humanity had faced in the past few weeks, Drescher thought it an understandable viewpoint.

"Which is why the _Bagration_ , along with a destroyer and corvette escort, has been ordered to travel to the Citadel with the delegates. The Alliance brass isn't taking any risks, but we'll be on high alert and on our own if anything happens." She didn't feel the need to lie to her soldiers. They were being in put in a vulnerable position. "Besides if the worst happens, we wouldn't lose too much. Just a few ships and some boring politicians, so much the better for the galaxy."

Stenzke visibly suppressed an urge to laugh. "On that we can agree, ma'am."

On the other hand, Bellec carefully read a copy of the message displayed in its original language. His eyes flickered, apparently trying to decipher the linguistics. It was unneeded but some people had taken an interest in such a thing. "What do we _really_ know of the Citadel and their species?" he asked.

Drescher brought up the data her ship's VI received from Spencer. "Basically what we have recovered from some batarian ships and what the turians have partially shared with us. It's called the _Codex_ , apparently it contains information about each system, portal, living species in the Council Space region ... in short, it seems to be a sort of huge galactic encyclopedia."

"I bet that scientists would give anything to possess this level of information," Velasquez said. As an engineer she would naturally be attracted new information. "Do we have any way of confirming the data?"

Drescher shook her head. "No, at least not all of it. Bits and pieces we've managed to confirm through our own efforts, but for the majority of the data we'll just have to assume they are telling us the truth.

"Assumptions often lead to unexpected realities," Frost stated. He stood still, arms folded in the classic sniper's stand-offish body language. "Besides its likely they are giving us a biased perspective."

"Evidently, but it would be no more biased than the batarian's version, and we have no reason to trust them at all." Just by their conversation Drescher could tell that this team was indeed special.

"And what of this 'Citadel'? Do we know anything about it?" Hower asked. Drescher nodded approvingly; information on the terrain was just as useful as information on the enemy.

"The Citadel is a colossal deep-space station that apparently serves as the capital of the Council. It is nearly forty-five kilometers long and thirteen kilometers in diameter with a gravitational pull similar to Earth's while some areas have lighter standard G's. Overall, I suspect the conditions would be suitable for humans."

"Intriguing, that is fifteen times larger than Arcturus. I wonder how they've managed to built such a large station?" Velasquez muttered. She had a point; Arcturus had taken twenty years to complete and the Citadel most likely took even longer to construct.

"The codex claims it was created by the Protheans, but it seems that they don't even know everything about the station. There is no mention of when it was built, how, or why it was discarded. Nevertheless, it's thanks to the Protheans we've got mass effect technology and I am sure they had good reasons for abandoning the station." In her military career, Drecher had seen armies abandoned perfect fortifications and defenses in times of war, taking the time bought to regroup and reconsolidate their strengths. It's most likely that the Protheans had decided that such a station was not worth the effort to keep.

"What about the other species we will be encountering?" Frost asked, changing the subject.

"Well it's nice to see that you are excited to take your cultural class, gunnery sergeant." Drescher opened the codex, revealing its contents. Eight pictures of different species replaced the message, each one more unique than the last. Two were easily identified as turians and batarians, but the rest were unknown.

"Hell. There are lots of them," Stenzke said, surprise evident in her tone.

"And each is vastly different, from their cultures to their system of governing," Drescher added, selecting one species that had a blue tone on their skin. "We have some information on them, but we must still be careful to avoid unintentionally insulting them. Let's start off shall we."

The admiral spent the next half hour demonstrating the fruits of her labors, teaching the N7 team about as many details she could find relating to the rest of the galaxy's races.

Once finished the admiral paused for breath and walked over to a small bar attached to the wall of the ready-room. Small plastic cups rotate into position she approached. She poured a glass of water and drank it slowly, leaving time to the N7s to assimilate the information they had just received.

After a few minutes, Hower broke the silence. "So what is the plan, ma'am?"

"I don't know about the raloi, but the Prime Minister has agreed to send diplomats. Even as we speak, Alliance and superpower shuttles are en route, loaded with representatives and their entourage. It will be up to us to provide protection and transport."

Hower was about to inquire further, but was cuff off by the communications officer.

" _Admiral, Relay build-up detected. Ship dropping out of FTL, just under 300,000 kilometers away from the Fifth Fleet._ _IFF is painting the ship as the_ SSV Campoformio."

"That must be the delegates," Drescher said, activating her omni-tool and directing the comms officer to transmit orders to the ship. "Lieutenant, please direct them to the appropriate hangar."

" _Of course admiral."_

It was understood that battleships never had enough cargo space in comparison to carriers. However, they did have sufficient space to house a single corvette, if not an entire accompanying escort. With the _Bagration's_ previously assigned corvette conducting relief efforts over Shanxi, there was no issue finding an area large enough for the diplomatic ship to use.

Drescher turned her attention back to the marines. "Now if any of you don't have any questions, you are dismissed. Feel free to enjoy any of my ships' recreation centers. I understand deck C has just upgraded its squash-ball court, if you are interested."

"Of course, ma'am. Thank you ma'am." Hower turned and headed for the room's exit, his team close behind.

Once the soldiers had left, the admiral took off her hat and wiped away the sweat with back of her hand, already feeling the signs of stress. It was indeed a crucial moment for humanity ... and she was glad the decision was not left to her. For what the turian's had allowed their allies to do, Drescher wanted vengeance, to turn the massive guns of her behemoth on a target inflicting as much damage as Shanxi had suffered. But she was equally against causing harm to people that honestly had no part in the rape of the colony. The wrong move would see war between the superpowers and this Council … unless it were handled correctly. Once again she gave thanks she did not make the ultimate decisions.

"May God watch over us," Drescher whispered, fitting her hat once again.

* * *

 _ **SSV Campoformio**_

 **Diplomatic ship**

 **Second Deck**

Anita Goyle, xeno-ambassador for the Alliance, made her entry onto the second deck. The title was almost a technicality; she was the _only_ one with experience in extra-terrestrial negotiations. After successfully brokering an alliance with the raloi, she was considered to be the obvious candidate for representing the Alliance. Arcturus seemed to believe she could repeat the same performance on a galactic scale. The pressure was nerve-racking, yet Goyle did her best to stay calm.

Although past fifty years had been stressful, Goyle had done her best to stay in shape. Her appearance magnetized the eyes of many men, sometimes a bit too clearly. A lesser woman would have been hurt by such behavior but many others, including her, would feel pride in still being able to make heads turn at her age. It was also true that the technological advances achieved in the last century had enabled humans to live longer, almost to a hundred and fifty. Even if physical capabilities didn't decrease with age, the appearance certainly did, and it wasn't uncommon to visit special surgeons to extend one's apparent youth.

She made her way to the briefing room to meet with her colleagues, ambassadors from the Big Four. Ideally, the Alliance parliament had wanted to just send Goyle as a single representative from mankind, but after the Big Four had threaten to withdraw from the Alliance and discontinue funding, the Prime Minister had allowed each super power to send their own delegates. Many parliament members feared that such a choice would reveal humanity to be fractured, but others argued that such a fear would inevitably become a reality, if the Big Four withdrew from the Alliance.

Even before she had entered the briefing hall, Goyle could already hear the bickering. It seemed even reinforced walls couldn't block out their noise. The doors to the room opened with a hiss as she stepped through it.

"…given the information from the codex, confronting them on their hypocrisy is the only way to kneecap any excuse or counter-argument they may have," The UNAS diplomat stated. His name floated to the forefront of Goyle's mind; one David Bowers, a relatively young man with black hair and blue eyes. He was very popular among the UNAS political arena and would often point out the flaws of his opponents' positions prior to explaining the positives of his own. A natural politician indeed.

"Doing so would alienate any support the Council may be willing to provide," Countered the E.F's ambassador. Natalie Perreau was of French origin, and could communicate her views perfectly in four separate languages. Her brunette hair, which hung off her shoulders in lavish waves, matched the color of her eyes. Unlike her North American colleague, Perreau seemed more inclined to being more cooperative with the Citadel Council. While she had many disagreements with the choices the Council had made in the past, she felt every government she knew of would have acted in a similar fashion had they've been put in the same situation.

"That is built on the assumption that they will give us any support." Bowers crossed is arms in disagreement. "Not to mention that apparently the batarians have been a part of the Citadel for over three centuries." He shook his head in disbelief. "We don't have many cards to play so it'd be better if we stacked the deck in our favor."

"Not to mention the lack of leverage we have over these new races," The stoic Burmese ambassador added as he stared out of a nearby window with his arms crossed behind his back. Wei Hun was a natural observer, proficient in reading body language. His position allowed the scars Shanxi had suffered, where hundreds of thousands of his own people now lay dead, to be clearly visible. The others knew he kept a façade as a means to avoid drowning in sorrow. Hun had taken the assault on Shanxi the worst, openly weeping in front of others as he read the atrocities committed. "Economics, military capability, and even industrial capacity are all areas in which we are outmatched. We need to make preparations, bid our time, segregate alien influence, and maintain sovereignty."

Goyle understood his position. The New Chinese Republic had still retained its status as a communist country, despite their free market based economy. The government had heavy control and placed high priority on protectionism. They usually resisted any free-trade deals given their already modernized nation.

"Do not forget, it was through our combined forces that we held Shanxi," Vsevelod Kapalkin responded. He was the most senior of the diplomats, and had a sliver tongue not commonly found among the Russian Council of Ministers. His position often collided with that of the military, more so in current times considering their desire for vengeance; Goyle had heard it to be an almost legendary showdown, culminating in Kapalkin making it _exceedingly_ clear he would sue for peace. She knew, however, that despite the differences of opinion, both parties respected each other greatly; neither could adequately protect the Mother Land without the other. However, it was more likely the whole thing was part of some master plan orchestrated by the SGB itself. One could never be too careful with dealing with the Russian military.

Goyle frowned, pondering the point. The SGB were infamous for never leaving a job half-finished. If Kapalkin was being allowed to sue for peace, it was solely because the military found it easier to keep their retaliation against the batarian off-record, maintaining deniability. Such a thing only occurred when said retaliation would be incredibly severe. She almost felt sorry for the batarians … but resolved to keep a very carefully blind eye towards Russian activities in certain regions.

She sighed, breaking into the discussion. "With respect to you all, I believe none of this is helping. We are nearing perhaps the most crucial moment in human history; and time is running short. We need to work on our own game plan before we proceed."

All four diplomats ceased their bickering momentarily and faced Goyle. She strode up to them, acknowledging their attention graciously. She looked the part, and knew it; she had been very deliberate while choosing her formal attire. She looked immaculate, hair brushed to a brilliant sheen, uniform crisply pressed and black dress shoes polished to a gleam. As all the attention was on her, Goyle walked to the center of the room.

"If we're going to establish any type of positive image, we need to present a strong, unified front to this Council. We cannot have each other arguing over how to best resolve the issue in front of them. It makes us look fractured and vulnerable, which is something we absolutely cannot afford. I know you all have your differences, but we need to treat this as an open war; that we protect each other with our lives. The more we all look like perfect allies, the better." Goyle spoke firmly, demanding respect with every sentence. She held her gaze on them until they began assenting. Kapalkin, surprisingly, was the first to concede her point.

"Agreed." he growled. "Goodwill – if they are sincere about it – is an excellent start. But, that will last only so long. A united front will be critical."

The more cynical would have judged his statement as opportunistic, but Goyle knew better. The situation was desperate, like no other in human history. The Second World War had ended with a desperate strike of nuclear fire; the Third had blown past that petty concern in spades. The following conflicts had been less dangerous, to a certain extent, but right here, right now, they were facing extinction on a galactic scale. Facts like that tended to shock people into sobriety, no matter their drug of choice.

"Very good," she managed to keep a dignified tone. What she _wanted_ to do was jump up and down screaming in happiness, but that would hardly benefit the decorum bought so dearly. "Computer, what is our ETA until we dock with the _Bagration_?"

 _"Onboard delegates: docking procedures have been authorized and are commencing,"_ The ship's VI mechanical voice echoed through the halls. Matching its words came a slight vibration, as the ship came into contact with the _Bagration_.

"If there are no further questions, I suggest we prepare for departure. We wouldn't want to keep the Council waiting now would we?" Goyle walked out of the room, hearing only a moment's hesitation before the rest joined her. All five of humanity's delegates moved forward, with her at the head of a wedge formation. Once final preparations had been made, the _Bagration_ would make way for the Citadel along with its escorts ... and then, the difficulties would begin.

* * *

 **Trivia:**

1\. The Council POV for this chapter was again heavily inspired by 'Mass Effect: Invictus.' I know some of you may have issues with this, but this is my way of paying homage to such a great story that isn't finished. That story was one of many that inspired me to write this story and I felt it served as a perfect continuation to the arch. Again many similarities and differences are noticeable in this story.

2\. We also see more council thoughts on humanity, especially regarding their vessels. That said, the Republics have something truly to fear. The SA destroyer is capable of obliterating the asari frigate-based fleets when compared to firepower.

For those of you who want an exact comparison, check out Chronicles of a New Age for more, but I will give a brief summary. While the SA's destroyers are created to content with enemy frigates, they simply do have enough to combat the nearly 20,000 frigates and and corvettes the Asari Republic have, which is more than the destroyers of the SA can hope to defeat. The SA maintained less than a thousand, which shows you how numerically they are outmatched by the asari fleets. They largely cancel each other out, but you can see why both sides would be reluctant to wage war.

3\. In this chapter, we also get to see another canon character getting an expanded role: Kastanie Drescher and we see how she is conflicted about the whole incident, but is professional enough to have a clear head. I want to show you guys how everyone in this war is human from the top all way to the grunt.

Also as to why she was chosen to escort the delegates and not Spencer was because Spencer is a high ranking official, he is needed to secure Shanxi in even the most remote possibility of there being a counter-attack and he is simply too valuable to risk going to the Citadel if it indeed is a trap.

4\. For those of you who are Gears of War fans, you get to see a little reference. Squash-ball is a sport in this fic that is heavily inspired by Thrash-ball

5\. We also have a bit of foreshadowing, what are the SGB military really up to? And what are they really planning?

6\. There was actually like 3k worth of extra content regarding the ambassadors' plans or strategy for their negotiations. Unfortunately we felt like it gave away too much so we decided to cut it. Fear not for that means you shall receive extra surprises during the negotiations chapter.


	21. Chapter 21 - Formal greetings

1-20-2157 0910 hours (Alliance standard time)

 _ **SSV Bagration**_

 **Battleship**

 **Command Deck**

The gentle hum of the life support systems and slight rumble from the engines seemed strangely distant inside the large human vessel. The bridge of the _SSV Bagration_ swarmed with activity, each section exchanging information and reports at blinding speeds. Various holo-screens filled, then emptied and filled again with sensor data, analyzing spatial geography with an exceptionally ruthless enthusiasm. From her position at the wide galaxy map, near the rear of the bridge, Admiral Drescher and several of her senior officers examined the synopsis of that data. What the codex had revealed gave hints, but nothing taught better than experience.

The Serpent Nebula was one of the older relics of the galaxy, thick and heavy over the passage of countless millennia. Its murky depths had yet to be fully charted, even by the salarians, despite their insatiable curiosity. Some quality of its chemical makeup defied analysis, leaving the denizens of the galaxy reliant on sub FTL speeds when exploring. People being people, very few ventured into its depths for that reason.

Buoys marked the known routes, and relayed every scrap of data they could detect, raising headlines when even a stray comet passed within range of their limited sensors. While brought up when the talking heads thought if it, the Nebula was truly a mystery holding an enigma wrapped in a guise no one could see.

"Arriving at the target system in T-minus six seconds."

Drescher gave a brief nod to navigation. She had already relayed her orders to the task force not much earlier, so she didn't need to worry.

The small task force of nine ships arrived in the system in a flurry of electrical archs that existed for only a brief moment before the universe reconciled itself, eliminating the foreign elements. The mixed Alliance/Confederate formation packed itself together with the _Bagration_ in the lead. As rehearsed, each ship exited the Relay in near perfect order.

Every vessel and its commanding officer knew what role they played. The destroyer squadron accompanying the battleship formed on its flanks, bringing additional weaponry to the vanguard. The corvette flotilla assigned to the task force hung close to the _Bagration_ , using its massive bulk to shield them from possible scanners angled from the Citadel. Upon re-entry, they activated their stealth systems and broke away, heading past the Relay in the opposite direction.

Admiral Drescher watched as the bridge crew manned their station, communicating with each other and the other ships in the task force in a perfectly organized manner. The professional attitude prompted an approving nod, but otherwise she stood with a stern expression on her aging face.

This was a crucial step; making an impression on the Citadel proper was nearly as important as it had been to the turians in the Shanxi system. Her shoulders relaxed a minuscule fraction as she made a small inspection of the tasks force status – a motion perceived by her bridge crew, and therefore relayed throughout the ship … and the fleet. Every action she took would be seen; and the only thing faster than FTL travel was gossip, a tradition older than every nation on Earth, probably.

"All vessels: slow to cruising speeds!" Drescher ordered. Her voice was calm, but carrying, the product of years of experience at the Command Central.

"Aye, commander." Her navigations officer replied. Seconds later the thrusting force of the engines slowed to a crawl, counter-thrusters activating quite violently. Battleships may have existed to be floating fortresses, but that also translated to being less-than nimble craft.

It was a necessary precaution. Surrounding the taskforce was the dense fog-like shroud of the Serpent's Nebula, its dense nature severely limiting visibility. Thankfully, the _Bagration's_ sensors were still fully operational, and picking up a massive energy spike. The eezo readings were off the charts and for a moment Drescher was concerned she might have stumbled into a trap.

Suddenly, the brilliant blue nebula obscuring the forward view ports dissipated, giving the _Bagration_ its first glimpse at the center of galactic civilization. To most, it truly was a sight to behold, nearly identical to what the Codex had shown.

The Citadel was a monolith of truly gargantuan proportions. Its length exceeded forty kilometers, larger than even Arcturus's expansive girth. Its length split into multiple arms, kilometers wide at their base, but still possessing an ephemeral beauty. Like a butterfly, opening its wings to the morning sun, the Citadel unfolded itself to create a truly awesome display, a welcoming gesture to the newest species in the galaxy – at least according to the records. As a first sight, it was intimidating indeed … and Drescher knew it.

"My god," one of the crew-members whispered.

Drescher herself was silenced by sheer awe, not an easy feat. It took time, but she recollected herself and began delivering orders. "Activate sensors to full power; I want to know what I am looking at."

"Affirmative, ma'am transferring sensor data to command console."

She checked the sensors, bringing up the visual enhancements. There were more lights outside the Citadel, ships, tiny by comparison yet equal to her own fleet in size. Their running lights, outlined the slight silhouettes of alien ships; were too many to be counted. Like her own convoy, they were holding position in a parade-like fashion. At the center of the formation was a massive ship, bigger than any of its neighbors. Its height rose kilometers over them, forcing Drescher to crank her neck upwards to receive a full view. The formation didn't look menacing, not exactly; so much as it did … enchanting.

The sensors seemed to indicate a certain dichotomy in the alien fleets. The largest ship held its position amongst others that looked similar; graceful swooping lines that surrounded an oval aperture that glowed element zero blue. Above the Station hovered a larger fleet, populated by the angular _turian_ ships, none quite as large as the monster hovering to one side but in vastly greater numbers.

That left a small grouping of sleek vessels below the Citadel. Unlike their neighbors, this small fleet appeared ready for action, every member oriented towards the Alliance delegation like a school of sharks.

"Ma'am, we're receiving hails from the alien formation," Holms reported.

Drescher nodded; they had predicted this possible interaction. "Patch them through."

Immediately a message was broadcasted through the _Bagration's_ loudspeakers.

" _Unidentified vessel, this is Matriach Lidanya of the ARV Destiny Ascension. Please state your intentions."_

Drescher wasted no time preparing the codes Admiral Servius had given her, transmitting on every channel her communication specialists could detect. The turian admiral had warned her that the Citadel would have precautions in place to deter criminals; but the codes he'd given her would help them identify her task force as a diplomatic force. It seemed unidentified intruders near the Citadel station were not kindly received, for understandable reasons.

To lessen mistrust, Drescher had the task force power down their weapons. That particular decision had been the result of a long and heated series of meetings, particularly on the behalf of those captains that had been in Shanxi the longest. However, she had won her point after noting that the vessels operating under stealth did not need to follow the same procedure.

After sending the code, Drescher waited anxiously for a reply. The horrible thought coursing through her mind refused to leave, a malevolent idea haunting her attempted calm. Having just survived a massive naval battle just a short time earlier, it struck her that she could easily perish here. To have come this far, only to be shot down by a security fleet would be highly ironic … an amusing thought, if morbid. Strict honesty forced her to admit it was not like she was practically defenseless. She was sure the security fleet had to be more than a bit intimidated of her own ship as well. Still, a thin layer of sweat covered her features.

Then the comms crackled.

" _Codes confirmed. We have been informed of your arrival; please proceed to docking bay D24. You will receive an escort to your destination. Follow the route precisely; if you diverge from it we will assume hostile intent. Matriarch Lidanya out."_

It wasn't long before the _Bagration_ received the coordinates. There was little difficulty for the Alliance battleship and her companions to follow the route precisely, ending with the massive ship docking without incident. The crew was efficient and disciplined,

Drescher piped a call to the ambassadors. "Madams, Sirs, we are approaching the station. Godspeed on your mission."

* * *

 ** _SSV Campoformio_**

 **Diplomatic ship**

 **Citadel Docking Bay D-24**

A crew-member opened one of the side compartments in the Kodiak, withdrawing four self-contained oxygen recycling masks, one for each delegate. She handed the masks to the delegates, pausing to make sure each slid the clear plastic over their mouths and noses. No one was taking any chances with foreign contaminants, as evidenced by the masks and several biological sensors on their omni-tools.

While their skin was unprotected, it was the Alliance's hope that any foreign bacteria that did make contact could easily be treated on the ship's medical center. The marine escort didn't need such devices; combat-grade armor came guaranteed with similar functions, even better in certain cases.

Goyle inclined her head to one side, listening. Mechanical whirring sounds could be heard from the Kodiak's doors; the shuttle's specially outfitted docking tube had to be just connecting. If it worked correctly, the alien metal of the Citadel's airlock and the shuttle's ablative metal alloys formed an airtight seal. Or so they hoped.

"Commander Hower, if you would be as kind to take up a position beside us. Have two of your marines stay a bit behind I know it goes against your training, use us as cover. Everyone else: Hands at your sides and no one make _any_ sudden movements." Goyle glared at the soldiers until they complied. She didn't want to risk a diplomatic incident within the first few seconds of official contact.

"And please, _please_ keep electronic surveillance to a minimum. Passively observe their radio traffic as much as you can, but do NOT attempt any sort of system intrusion, unless you believe them to be hostile. We don't know how sophisticated their systems are and I'd like to avoid the appearance of cyber-warfare."

"Affirmative, ambassador." Hower gave her a salute, crisp and professional.

As the Kodiak's shuttle door hissed open at the middle, Goyle took a calming breath. She peered through the passage and saw that beyond the plain gray metal of the Kodiak docking tube lay a bright white room, what she assumed was the airlock of the Citadel. Goyle started to step forward, her steps mirrored by the marines beside her.

As they crossed through the docking tube into the threshold of the station, Goyle felt the pressure of artificial gravity washing over her. But it felt slightly … _odd._ It wasn't something she put her finger on, but it certainly felt nothing like the form of gravity Alliance ships used, the kind she'd grown accustomed to over the years. It was slightly off-putting, but she pushed the feeling to the back of her mind.

All ten of them passed through the airlock, and the Kodiak's docking tub doors slid shut behind them, booming with hollow finality.

" _Attention shore party. Stand by for decontamination."_

Out of the ceiling an opaque mist began to spray from unseen nozzles; Goyle's hands hovered over her omni-tool. Innocuous-looking as it was, its hidden programming held enough deadly weaponry to get her thrown off multiple human worlds.

"Commander?" She kept her voice steady.

Hower convened with Velasquez for a moment before replying. "It's safe ambassador. According to our engineer's readings, it's a decontamination mist just like the voice said."

Goyle calmly moved her hand back to her side, letting the mist gently beaded up, instantly evaporating as soon as it made contact. She raised her eyebrows when a blue square materialized in the air, its appearance very similar to the Alliance's own bio-metric scanners.

With a slight hum, the presumed scanner began slowly moving towards them. The softly synthesized female voice they had heard earlier returned saying, _"Decontamination in progress."_

The scanner's field passed over Goyle, conveying a slight tingling sensation across her skin, but it quickly passed. The field moved inexorably onward, scanning the rest of the small room before reversing direction.

Before disappearing, the female voice returned. _"Decontamination scans complete. No foreign contaminates detected."_

Goyle and her N7 escort stood ready, waiting for a sign of what would be happening next. While professional, she could see some of the group remained nervous, deep down and – she could empathize. After all, they had just traveled practically across the galaxy, from a war-torn colony to the center of a foreign power. Moreover, they would soon be diving into negotiations with the alien coalition supposedly responsible for that strife. It was understandable that the tension filling the airlock would increase. The door slid to one side, letting the tension release at the first gust of artificial atmosphere.

Goyle's eyes took in the scene in an instant. The first figure she saw was a male turian, standing a few meters directly in front of her, his distinguishable fringe easily determined. Piercing green eyes quickly surveyed her, then darted to the N7 marines beside her, lingering just long enough to be noticeable. He was dressed in what appeared to be black hard-suit with bright red trimmings and designs. He was tall, Goyle placed him at above six feet; but what was the fact that his skin tone somewhat resembled the red trimmings of his suit.

His rigid stance radiated an atmosphere of pure calmness. With confidence, he professionally wore his uniform without the slightest wrinkle. The one thing that jumped out to Goyle though, was the style of markings on his face, nearly covering it all.

Flanking the man stood two full squads of large beings, fully armed and armored. They appeared to all be of the same species, with several exceptions. Goyle felt her heart stop. ' _What have we gotten ourselves into now?'_

The turian in the odd uniform stepped forward. "Hello. I'm Assistant Executor Pallin of Citadel Security. I welcome you aboard the station."

After a brief pause, Goyle stepped forward as well. "Anita Goyle, Systems Alliance Director of Foreign Affairs. It's an honor to meet you Assistant Executor, from what I have seen, it is a beautiful place."

"The honor is all mine, Director." Pallin replied respectfully. He gestured down the path between both platoons, further into the station. "Now if you will follow me to the Citadel Tower in the Presidium, the Council is waiting for you."

* * *

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **C-Sec Headquarters**

Docking was a long procedure, filled with dozens of minute details best processed by synthetic minds. Regulations required an active organic mind overseeing it, but in the past seven hundred docking maneuvers he'd undergone, there had been precisely two incidents that had required his direct intervention.

As expected, the contacts touched without his needing to lift so much as a finger.

Inside the vast C-Sec office sat Desolas Arteruis, Chief of Citadel Naval Operations, staring at a reasonable sized monitor. He typed away, eyes skimming over various C-Sec reports. "Avina, what have we got?"

The VI repeatedly blinked, processing and displaying the data he'd deemed necessary. However, due to the increased electronic traffic, it took the virtual intelligence longer than usual to complete its tasks.

This greatly irritated Desolas. As a high-ranking official within the Citadel, he had many other tasks to finish, and had lost patience hours earlier, regaining it only with great effort. He began beating his talons on the table, chanting the Five Rules the entire time. This had not been in the plan for the day. Earlier, much earlier, he had made plans to have an all-too-rare relaxing evening with his family, mainly his younger brother Saren.

They had agreed on blowing off steam at the local bar to ease their stress; he with his work and Saren with his own tasks. Now of course the evening was ruined; a pity. Relaxation was a rare commodity nowadays. His own line of work, while a source of great pride, was also the cause of great stress. He had considered ignoring the call to the Citadel; there was little good reason to continue overworking his body. Of course, his conscious and sense of duty had reasserted itself … and he found himself in this situation.

But now, seeing how the situation had evolved, he was happy that he had come – to a certain extent. These 'humans' and 'raloi' were truly interesting races. Reports of the incident were fascinating to read, and spoke well of the Systems Alliance, for taking prompt and reasonable actions. At the moment, while waiting for more information, he was staring at a monitor, watching as Assistant Executor Pallin waited with the honorary C-Sec detail near the arrival's docking destination. He had heard a great many things of the unknown races. The bare facts, let alone rumors, did much to earn both his caution and respect.

It wasn't just a simple meeting of minds … this conference. The discovery of two new species heralded a potential for incredible violence. Historically, while rarely turning to aggression, a First Contact could indicate war on a galactic scale.

Frowning, Desolas ran a quick search. The Hanar and Drell First Contacts had been peaceful, as had the Salarian and Volus. But the Krogan were introduced to the Citadel after their discovery by the Salarians, and their resulting victory in the Rachni Wars while the turian themselves had entered the galactic chessboard during the Krogan Rebellions. Just the military potential of his people had prevented centuries of bloodshed, but in doing so had altered the balance of power in such a way that historians were still struggling to understand.

Parnack, and its barbaric primitives were certainly an outlier. Still, the lesson taught by the aggressive Yahg could not be ignored.

The Rachni had been a truly disastrous First Contact, out of six. Technically, the Krogan and Turians had achieved peaceful initial greetings, but both had become embroiled in war almost as soon as they'd been discovered. Statistically speaking, call them a half value each. The current ratio then was two out of six contacts resulting in galactic war … these humans and raloi had a thirty-three percent chance of being _exceedingly_ hostile. But, there were other factors.

They had been discovered by Admiral Servius, an already distinguished naval officer, who would no doubt be heralded as an exemplar member of his species. Unfortunately, first impressions had been soured by the fact that it was the Hegemony that officially made contact with the Systems Alliance and had done so by opening a dormant Mass Relay in the process.

 _'By the spirits, do the batarians have any sense of self-control?'_ Desolas dropped his mandibles in a private display of contempt, _'I always knew they were scum, but this time they crossed the line. If it were my decision I would simply kick them off the Citadel and let the new races have their way with them.'_

It was galling, remembering all the times he'd advocated for increased patrols in the Traverse. In hindsight it would have been preferable to simply blockade any ship entering from batarian space and force them into allowing routine inspection. Impractical perhaps, but preferable to the current situation.

The Citadel's VI responded in his internal earpiece. "There are ten figures currently undergoing the decontamination process. Another group of five is being scanned as per routine security protocols. The first group matches bio-signature parameters for human life forms, six male and four females, half of which appear to be heavily armed. The other group consists of raloi bio-signatures, predominately male with only one individual unarmed."

 _'Nine armed guards in total?'_ Desolas thought. He had been told that the Systems Alliance was very keen on security, but it didn't make it any less surprising that they would bring what consisted of an armed squad.

While the heavy precautions could be due to a lack of trust in the Citadel's own security; he could not fault them. The system had failed them, allowing an associate race, one who had not been adequately supervised and – up until this point – been allowed to roam like hedonists, to unjustly massacre them.

What greatly interest him was how the humans apparently had five civilians as opposed to one. He had read reports of how the humans were rather diverse, but he would have never thought it applied to their government as well.

' _Perhaps they have a government very similar to the Republics; many city-states, one overall government. It would explain the number of ambassadors.'_ While unverified, he decided to use the explanation as a primary guide for dealing with the potentially non-unified leaders. As head of Fleet Division, he was well accustomed to making deductions in a vacuum.

He just prayed these humans didn't enjoy debating as much as the asari.

A quiet chime alerted him to an incoming data transmission. With a quick wave of his left arm and some specific talon-prints, he ejected a chip from his omni-tool. Within seconds of inserting the chip to his private terminal, the information was displayed on a holographic screen, detailing the biology of the two species.

Even though he was just skimming the most vital bits of information, he was genuinely surprised by its contents. Due to the infamous bureaucracy for which the Citadel was known; he had only just acquired the information, and was barely in the process of assessing it. He made a mental note to send an appeal to the Executor, requesting a fast-track for any requests of imperative intelligence. Specifically, for the security of the station. How could he plan an adequate defense against these races if he didn't even know their basic biology?

The data was _extremely_ helpful. Apparently, the raloi were largely similar to his own species: down to similar facial features and apparent avian nature, despite being classified as reptilian. Their skin appeared to be much smoother however, resembling soft pristine leather. They had a much bulkier frame overall, but Desolas was confident that turians held the edge in agility and range. He was glad to hear that the raloi preferred tropical climates and breathed a mixture of nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere.

' _That certainly is a blessing. The Hierarchy doesn't need_ another _dextro-acid species competing for colonization rights.'_ It had been an unspoken truth, that once the quarians had been banished from the Citadel, all dextro-acid worlds within Council Space became the property of the Hierarchy by default. Even un-colonized planets served a purpose, forward operating bases that few contested … save the batarians, of course.

The other race, however, was more interesting. They greatly resembled the asari with some modifications to skin-tone, facial features, and a more robust figure. Like the small annoying mammals he'd seen on tour, humans possessed hair. Records from before the Quarian/Geth debacle indicated the quarians too had hair, but it had been a moot point for over three centuries now. Though he was no scientist, he was intrigued by the obvious variety.

' _Perhaps their home-world has several types of climates causing such anomaly in their evolution.'_ He thought. _'Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. Within a few weeks I'll have to read through the salarian drivel. Spirits, how I hate this job sometimes.'_

The air shifted, cascading down the exposed sections of his armor, and he could hear the soft hiss of his door opening. He didn't need to turn around to know who the new arrival was, the biometrics already held the information on his screen. "Good day, brother," he said without taking his eyes off the holo-screen.

"And to you as well, though I can't say I'm surprised to see you camped in here like a varren." The newcomer walked slowly into the room, as was his way. The figure was careful, analyzing everything as if seen for the first time.

"Well my job happens to be that important, Saren."

The taller turian paused. "So you requested my presence because …?"

"I thought you would have enjoyed suffering with me. Besides it's not like you have anywhere to be right now." Desolas gestured to a nearby seat.

Saren gave a light laugh, choosing a closer chair. "Unfortunate, but true."

Desolas nodded, feeling somewhat chagrined at the relief washing over him; at feeling relaxed knowing the other was safe. It was a trait that had often gotten him chastised for being overbearing – but as the older sibling he simply couldn't neglect his duties as role model for Saren.

There were upsides to the trait. It was one of the reasons why his younger brother had been labeled an exceptional soldier within the Hierarchy military. As a distinguished member of the elite Havoc Corps, Saren was well-known for being a man of action and would be hard-pressed sitting behind a desk all day.

Being a bureaucrat was something Desolas knew Saren would never become. While both brothers were avatars' of the Hierarchy's strict adherence of the greater good, their chosen career paths had taken them down separate destinations. One was a leader, the other was a fighter. One used proven doctrine, the other improvised. Desolas relied on experience, while Saren survived through raw skill. Even coming from the same family, none could have predicted how different the brothers would turn out to be.

Desolas shook his head. There was no regret for his chosen career, at least not most of the time. Many years ago, he had learned to place the good of the Citadel and its associate races before the good of even his own kind. A minor sacrifice for himself was nothing by comparison.

Saren was equally dedicated. He was impetuous and passionate, qualities certainly useful on the battlefield, but not conducive to diplomacy and compromise. The skills he did possess were evidenced by the multiple awards Desolas knew were stashed in a secure locker; they saw the light of day only on formal occasions.

Still, Desolas was determined to drill in the lessons he had learned, especially considering the rumors of late. He'd dropped enough hints, but the Council had already been inspecting Saren as a potential Spectre candidate. If that were to happen, it would mean he would be the youngest turian inducted into the clandestine force. Given that Spectres served the Council above all others powers, it was his personal mission to force Saren to understand the merits of such things. Of course things had been difficult; Saren being incredibly stubborn on the issue.

"So I assume these new races are the cause of your imprisonment?" Saren asked, a half-smirk in his eyes.

Despite his casual attitude, Desolas could see the scrutiny behind his brother's eyes. Like any turian, Saren was trained to analyze, to seek out threats and weaknesses. Given the Hierarchy's militaristic nature and its role within the Citadel, it was vital that all threats be purged before having a chance to sprout. The Krogan Rebellions had merely been proof of a civilization's way of life, one that had been nearly destroyed by the backwards war-loving fools.

"Indeed they are and, in case you haven't noticed, it's my job to make sure nothing goes wrong." Desolas replied.

He heard Saren gave an unconvinced grunt. "If the rumors I've been hearing are anything to go by, then you've already failed."

"It _is_ a precarious situation." Desolas ignored his brother's sarcastic remark. He wasn't going him the pleasure of a reaction. "Nothing else can go wrong. The Council has already restricted Relay travel and has set up checkpoint bordering batarian space."

Saren's mandibles jutted outwards, figuratively blowing a raspberry at the ruling body. "I believe it's a little too late for that."

Desolas had to agree with his brother. The Council held a long history of being lenient with the Hegemony, most predominantly allowing them to continue practicing slavery due to their so called 'cultural rights'. Ironic; the rights of one group required the removal of the same rights of others.

Unfortunately that wasn't the only example. The Hegemony had flat out slapped the Council in the face, ignoring its laws on a frequent basis. Despite being welcomed into the galactic community with open arms – a colossal mistake in his opinion – batarian aggression had provoked multiple crises in galactic relations over the years. Four centuries ago, a batarian fleet had bombarded the salarian colony world of Mannovai. Barely a century later, the Hegemony forcibly annexed the independent asari colony of Esan; and less than fifty years ago, Citadel forces had skirmished with the Hegemony military over the planet Enael. Now, the batarians were at it again, attacking an unknown civilization and risking the possibility of all-out war.

 _'Whatever happens from here on, no good turian will die protecting those scum.'_ Desolas could follow many orders, but making turians fight and die in vain was not one of them. That would be the final straw. If the Council sided with the Hegemony, he was prepared to resign. He refused to be a part of an organization that set aside its ideals to satisfy a parasitic relationship with liars, thieves, and murders.

He shook his head, returning to the task at hand. "What are your impressions of them?"

Saren sniffed, appraisingly. "Admirable. Worthy of respect."

"Why?"

"They've fought and defeated the batarian forces over their colony." Saren let his teeth show; he held as low an opinion of the Hegemony as his brother.

Desolas held back a careful look; "You know I haven't confirmed those rumors?"

"You've never denied them either."

A smile appeared over the older Arteruis brother. Saren had remarkable skills indeed. They returned their full attention to the monitor, watching as Pallin escorted the delegates through the many serene locations of the Citadel.

A small detail did stand out to Desolas. Interestingly enough, the humans did not seem favorably impressed by the ships on display. Even the _Destiny Ascension_ , the largest ship ever built to his knowledge, failed to elicit a reaction. The Council had conveniently placed it in a critical point, visible from the docks on the way to the Presidium. Fortunately the spectacles of the route seemed to leave an impression on the raloi, but so far the humans had yet to show any sign of emotion.

 _'Strange, perhaps the humans are trained to suppress unnecessary reactions.'_ Desolas pulled his seat closer to his monitor, watching with keen interest. _'But then, why would the raloi do the opposite, if they are such close allies?'_

* * *

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **En route to Council Chambers**

Etos' head turned from side to side, taking in the station around him. He had never seen so many wonders in his brief existence. The sheer size of the space station with its lakes and forests, the statues and artworks, and all of the alien species roaming around was truly spectacular. He had to force himself to stay concentrated, staring straight ahead as the C-Sec patrol led the raloi/human envoys towards the station's Council. He kept his posture dignified, walking with a straight back. As the Confederate's ambassador he had to look regal and poise.

Walking through the streets of the Citadel, he could see the alien guards were clearing a way through the quickly gathering crowd. Civilians from multiple races gawked at him and his protection. He could understand how they felt, he himself feeling the same sort of curiosity.

Subtly, his predatory instincts subtly made themselves known, keen eyes scanning the crowd. Like an apex predator stalking its prey in an open field, , Etos felt himself becoming delighted over seeing multiple races whose biology made them inept for warfare. He could see a few who violated this observation, but those seemed to be the exception.

Etos checked his preparations once more, a huge burden relieving itself from his shoulders as he felt a small metallic sensation in his uniform's pocket. The feeling brought a smile to his face, which the crowd misinterpreted as if it were directed towards them. With the newest translation updates installed in his omni-tool, he could hear and very well understand the crowd's cheers.

 _'Hanar, volus, elcor ...'_ He mentally listed off the various species throwing greetings at him. In order to gain a better sense of the other races, Etos made sure he had read every available report concerning each of them, ranging from their role on the station, their unique biology, and even their history. His brain was in constant overload having to keep the wide array of information in his memory.

He could see how the turian guards looked at him and his colleagues with a mixture of interest, trepidation, and calculation. He certainly couldn't blame them for having such feelings; the young raloi did strike an imposing figure. Towering over two meters in height, Etos was comparable to a miniature giant. His physic was no less impressive, his hard-suit displaying his toned body. But these were merely physical traits, ones that were obvious. What the turians should really be concerned about was what they couldn't see.

He made a similar observation upon the human entourage, sensing the many different emotions emitting from their souls. Fear, anxiety, anger, and dread were sentiments shared by the group to varying degrees.

' _Just because they are my_ allies _does not mean I can't remain skeptical. An bond formed out of necessity is always weaker than one formed from trust.'_ Etos granted the humans the benefit of the doubt, focusing on much larger opponents.

"VIP en route to CC. Patrol 2-5 moving through sector G-8, are we clear over?"

The lead turian guard, holding his omni-tool close to his helmet, searched the nearby balconies for threats. No one expected the worst to happen, but it was preferable to remain vigilant.

' _They are all on edge,'_ Etos recognized. He could understand why. They were guarding a foreign dignitary, as alien as they were to him and it was their job to get him to the Council alive and unharmed. _'We will have to be cautious around these turians. They are unlike the others, whose weakness can be sensed.'_

"All VIP escorts, you are clear for transport. Move to sector Transit Zone Four and wait for pickup, over."

He, along with the humans, was escorted to a landing pad where the turian security squads fanned out and secured the perimeter. He recognized the pattern easily and was somehow comforted by the resemblance of raloi tactics. He looked to his guard of Shadows, who nodded approvingly at the security measures. Four armored shuttles landed, and he was huddled into the second one while the human delegates and their guards stepped inside the third before they took off at great speeds.

He had thought that being confined within the windowless shuttles would give him some breathing room and some time to clear his mind before his meeting with the alien council. But being in such close proximity to so many aliens was unsettling. He was literally rubbing shoulders with his two guards while the turian drivers continued piloting the craft in silence.

The awkward and uncomfortable ride lasted less than five minutes before he was ushered out of the vehicle. If he had thought that the scenery of his previous route through the Citadel had been amazing, then it paled in comparison to what he bared to witness now. Everything the raloi had ever created, from the greatest technological innovations to the most regal of palaces were utterly shamed.

Looking upwards, the sky gave a dazzling sparkle, billions of scintillating points of light making their presence known even through the thick panes above him. Their steadfast brilliance comforted him like nothing else. No matter what alien species came, or even if he were destroyed by an errant trigger-finger, the stars witnessed and would remember long after he departed.

Walking along a metal walkway, flanked on both sides by leafed trees, bushes with flowers of varying colors, and even small shimmering rivers running along the path to his sides; it was simply breathtaking. Looking up, he could see the glass ceiling, through which was a magnificent view of the Widow System, and a huge dreadnought flying just outside. Truly, it was a marvel to behold.

The main interest, he decided, was in the trees. Gardens could be designed in many ways, to display herbs and flowers like the National Gardens of Palacea, or a tribute to the ancient majesty no man could truly master, like the Darkening Forest. Somehow, trees added a sense of gravitas, a feeling of things that were older than yourself looking over your shoulder.

Here, the Presidium Gardens lacked some of that, leaving him somewhat lost. The trees present were thin, short specimens, with more blue in their leaves than green. Yet they had an inherent majesty about them, echoes of the planets where their ancestors dwelled.

His group followed the path up onto a glass podium, now looking across the room. He could see three terminals, currently unoccupied, across a small chasm between his podium and their position. The murmurs of the collected officials and dignitaries filled the large room. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see numerous aliens gathering on the nearby balconies to have a better view of the proceedings. They were no doubt curious as to how the humans and his people looked liked.

' _Good this means the negotiations will be broadcasted. Even better.'_ An even bigger smile appeared over his face, amused by his great luck.

After another minute of waiting, which he figured felt like an eternity to the humans given the sweat coating their skins, the station's three councilors made their entry. Seeing the humans in their state, Etos was thankful for his race's ability to handle tropical heat. To him it was slightly chilly, but nothing more.

As the codex had suggested, the Council consisted of the three major races, a turian, asari, and salarian. Each councilor took their positions upon the formerly unoccupied terminals.

From his peripheral vision, Etos noticed a batarian as well, a male given his appearance. _'A brute, trying to pass himself off as an ambassador. How amusing.'_ He noticed how the batarian lacked any facial markings or tattoos, a visual contrast to each councilor.

' _Is it possible the tattoos signify an individual as a councilor? It could also be an unlikely coincidence that the three Council races merely have them to display their culture.'_ He didn't have much time do dwell on the thought for long as the entire chamber immediately fell silent upon the Councilors formal arrival.

While they disguised the move with polite chatter amongst themselves, Etos saw through the attempt. They looked at him apprehensively, sizing him up, analyzing him. His posture, his eyes, his hands … all seemingly taken in with careful examination. He saw the humans were not exempt from such scrutiny either.

Theoretically, the Councilors were most likely making notes to themselves, regarding the stress level and biology of the gathered dignitaries assembled before them. It was certainly a sound strategy. Any conclusion their observations made would quickly be taken into consideration. It was a standard practice in politics. He bared his teeth in a welcoming display, using the motion to hide inner glee. Even the most careful examination would fail to identify the true nature of what he carried.

The asari councilor politely cleared her throat, showing her intent to speak. "The Council is now assembled. We welcome the dignitaries of the Systems Alliance to our Citadel and to the galactic community to make their case against the Hegemony."

Etos noticed how the councilor had used a possessive term when describing the station as if they were the rightful and sole heirs of it. Only now did he realize that he had been taken along the most scenic and impressive route to these chambers on purpose. The huge ships guarding the station, lingering at the docking bay long enough to obtain a good view of their formation. All of it was part of a game with the sole intention of weakening his resolve and accept the barest deal offered. As much as he would hate to admit it, it did work to an extent.

"The charges are violation of the Citadel Conventions Protocol One and Two, Common Article Two and Three, thus resulting in grave breaches. Additional charges include willful killing, torture or unconscionable treatment, willfully causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health to force conscription, and extensive destruction of property not justified by military necessity," the asari read off.

"Baseless accusations without any proof!" The batarian ambassador hissed. By the reactions, it was apparently out of turn. "It is clear that this is nothing more than another attempt by the Council to disrupt the Hegemony's cultural rights. It is obvious since the Council has been unable to conform us; they seek to bring forth more accusations – this time with new races bringing the charges in order to gain support."

Etos saw the disruption caused by the batarian ambassador did not sit well with the Council, especially with the turian councilor, whose narrow eyes and tight jaw made clear of his disdain.

"With all due respect Ambassador Pazness, we have all gathered to hear both sides and come to a solution. You would do well to remember that your kind has a long history of disrupting galactic peace." The uncharacteristic glare from the salarian councilor seemed to subdue the batarian ambassador, if only for a moment.

"We apologize to everyone assembled for the interruption." The asari's elegance would have entranced Etos, if not already prepared to hear such things. "I greet all of you assembled in the name of the Citadel Council. I am Councilor Tevos and to my left are Councilor Sparatus and Soliris."

He made a shallow bow and waited for her to continue, but instead it was the turian councilor who spoke, his slightly resonating voice sounding odd in the vast chambers.

"We have received recorded evidence from both the Systems Alliance as well as from one of our most decorated admirals respectively. I will do well to remind you ambassador that as of this moment it is the Hegemony's word that is being examined."

"We've also been notified by STG Operatives that, according to the Hegemony's own naval registry, there are nearly three weeks in which the 16th fleet is unaccounted for. Please ambassador would you like to inform us of the gap?" The salarian councilor inquired. Unlike the gentleness of the asari, and the assertiveness of the turian, this councilor was logical and straight to the point. It appeared to have some affect as Pazness seemed caught unguarded.

"What!? Impossible, I have no prior knowledge of this!"

"Perhaps that may be true, but if that is the case then I hope you understand why we would be highly suspicious of the Hegemony's attempts." The asari's soothing tones veiled what was obviously a rebuke behind mediating words.

"Not to mention, Admiral Servius has recorded footage of pirates using a dormant Mass Relay," The turian councilor flatly stated. He keyed a few commands on his terminal and a holographic display of the incident filled the room.

From the angle provided, Etos could see the turian corvettes did their best to remain hidden as they recorded incriminating evidence of the event.

"As you can see, the pirates clearly used the Relay to FTL to an unknown system, one now confirmed to belong to the Systems Alliance. Once the rest of the Hierarchy's Second Fleet had regrouped with the advanced recon ships, they followed the pirates and found this ..."

The scene changed to show Hegemony and Systems Alliance ships embroiled in a fierce naval battle, dozens of ships being annihilated to hundreds of ordnance being fired. Etos was able to point out a few raloi ships as well, the remnants of Talal's battle group. The scene was then fast forwarded to highlight a large remaining portion of the Hegemony's fleet now skirmishing with the Hierarchy fleet, an even more vicious battle if that was possible.

"As everyone can see, this is enough incriminating evidence to launch a full investigation on the matter. Personally if it were up to me, I would have expelled your government for its failure to comply with Admiral Servius' order to surrender." he vicious tone in the turian councilor was clear. A welcome sound to Etos. Leaders who couldn't control their followers deserved – a well, perhaps cultures differed here. But this turian seemed to have the right idea.

"This is a clear fallacy!" The batarian ambassador once again yelled. "This does not prove a Hegemony Fleet was responsible for activating the Relay."

"Perhaps not, but it does prove the Relay was already activated by the time the pirates arrived within the system and it also proves that the Hegemony fleet was already conducting operations in the area. It's rather reasonable to assume the Hegemony was the one responsible for activating the Relay as the evidence points to it." The salarian commented drily. Even if the footage did not show the Hegemony fleet actually activating the Relay, the general public would be quick to accuse the Hegemony of such actions.

Of course, Etos decided to stay silent, not wanting to provide the actual truth. In reality, the Confederacy had more involvement in activating that particular Mass Relay, the same Relay the Hegemony was currently being blamed for.

' _Absolutely perfect … and a nice twist of poetic justice,'_ He thought.

Tevos interrupted his thoughts. "Every bit of evidence we have points to the Hegemony being responsible for the activation of the Mass Relay and guilty of willfully caring out war-crimes. As you know the penalty for such things would be the removal of the Hegemony's embassy on the Citadel."

"This is absurd; the Hegemony would never stoop to such acts! We are a noble and proud race, committed to following the route to a more peaceful galaxy. This proceeding does nothing more than to expose the clear bias of the Council against the Hegemony." The batarian ambassador growled. "I demand to see this so-called 'proof,' and test it for myself!"

"If you wish for us to believe you ambassador, then please provide evidence to the contrary." The asari calmly stated, choosing to ignore Panzess' claims.

"I cannot refute accusations made against my kind that I have no prior knowledge of taking place," Panzess stated in response. His body hunched slightly; not in fear, but more closely similar to a predator realizing of a hidden threat. Possibly from his own people.

"Either you are lying ambassador, or you are truly ignorant of these events taking place. If that is the case then it's most likely that the admiral of the Hegemony fleet acted on his or her own." Tevos gestured, allowing the salarian to take over the questioning.

Etos could see what the whole negotiation was coming too. The Council was coming on hard, fast, and strong. He also understood their strategy of switching turns to speak. It made them look like they were agreeing on everything and had the effect of throwing the other party off. Clever.

They had the whip, putting the batarians in their place and asserting their authority over the newcomers to the masses, who were undoubtedly watching through all the cameras and other recording devices which were placed in the room. Not that he could see them. Now they needed a carrot designed to make him and the humans feel privileged and honored, that way the council could coax whatever they wanted out of him and still look like the heroes to their people and the newcomers.

Not that their tactic would work. The analytics had foreseen such a move, and had prepared accordingly. Now it would undoubtedly be the asari councilor who would take charge of the proceedings. The codex had pointed the asari as being the main diplomats of the Citadel, forging deals and usually acting as mediators in conflicts. They were the obvious choice as the warm, friendly, and welcoming race.

Sure enough the asari ended the questioning with an interrupting sound, clearly rehearsed to look spontaneous, and proceeded to speak. As much as the asari had experience in politics, the action couldn't fool Etos. He had been exposed to such tactics for many years, by senators and consuls within his own government.

"While we must place some ground rules for the sake of mutual security it is however an auspicious day. We are welcoming an entire civilization to the galactic community, two new races with their own history and culture, art and knowledge. While our initial meeting turned into an unfortunate incident our continued relations will see us exchange ideas and incorporate the human and raloi race into the galactic fold."

She smiled at him, largely a part of the gathered guests. He, along with the humans, mirrored the gesture. He knew what they were doing, they thought they were clever, but in truth they really had no idea.

The asari continued.

"We must of course render assistance to the human and raloi race medically, technologically, and economically. The Citadel species can offer much to the Systems Alliance and it is to my hope that we can continue this great era of peace."

That finished Etos's opinion. He knew what she had meant by 'assistance.' Make the new races reliant on the technology and products of the Citadel species. By 'economic' support, otherwise known as free market business access, they would thereby outdo what they believed was available to humanity and the raloi. It would have the effect of making sure both races would be dependent on the business and markets of the Citadel species, thereby creating leverage.

He had to admire the skill, however. The words were spun in way to make it sound as if they were rendering assistance to failing, primitive races. He could tell the human delegates did not like that either. The Council had really rehearsed it all it seemed. Now it was his turn to answer.

"Members of the Citadel Council, I am honored and awed by your seat of government and the generosity displayed by the species of the Citadel."

He could see the genuine grin of the asari councilor, hidden behind a façade of polite, but proper calm. The salarian and turian councilors appeared unfazed by such praise, perhaps more concerned by the actual substance of the meeting. Either way, they believed that they had made an irresistible offer, one that the newcomers in one way or another could not refuse.

"I would therefor like to apologize on behalf of my species for the unfortunate incident, where a member species of the Citadel attacked both my kind and the humans in unprovoked aggression and blatantly activated a dormant Relay as a result." He believed he showed them the point there. They would not be able to excuse the actions of the batarians. He did notice the faint smile on the faces of the turian and salarian, while the batarian ambassador was practically fuming.

"We agree completely that some ground rules must be placed for the mutual security of our people." He held up his hand in an apologetic gesture. "But I am afraid that I am unable to make those negotiations myself."

He reached into his pocket and produced a small sphere. It was a mobile holographic platform. It would allow an image of another person, or in this case people, to be projected even if they were light-years away. A basic tool created using Mass Effect physics, but greatly under-utilized in the political arena.

When Etos had first proposed this tactic many were baffled. Would it work? Would it be beneficial? Could it give the Confederacy an advantage? After much debate, it was finally settled. It seemed various party members would rather be presented together than not at all. It would convey a message of unity, like the one the Council was emitting now with their higher position and superior numbers.

It would also secure the integrity of the individual negotiating since they wouldn't be compromised by the numerous pleasures the Citadel promised. Furthermore, it would mean that the members of the Confederate government would be able to negotiate with the Council without any being present and therefore not be in danger of capture or threat. The many senators, consuls, and even electors had of course heard everything since he had transmitted the negotiations through his omni-tool.

He placed the sphere on the floor and pressed a button on the top. It immediately sprung to life, rising multiple meters above the ground before projecting the colored image of the amphitheater of the Confederacy. Standing front and center was First Electore Phaux himself.

" _Greetings honored councilors of the Citadel. I am First Electore Phaux of the Raloi Confederacy. My many compatriots and I will be negotiating on behalf of my people."_

The raloi Electore looked at the Council intently. For Etos, he assumed the Council found it odd talking to a hologram. He certainly had pulled a fast one on the council while showing the raloi's potential as a member species. To have the ability to make a transportable holo-projector, one that could walk around at will no less, was no easy feat.

The Council certainly seemed absolutely baffled, their years of experience unable to mask their shocked expressions. Etos immediately knew his tricked had worked beyond any expectation. For a full five seconds the entire chamber was eerily silent. As for the icing on the cake, First Electore had given the proper name for the raloi, the Confederacy. No doubt this would make the Council appear ignorant and if their blank stares were anything to go by, they were clearly embarrassed. Etos ran a quick mental calculation, and decided they would try continuing in the negotiations and not let attention remain on their rather obvious mistake.

"I'm sorry Electore Phaux, but did you say the _Confederacy_?"

" _That is correct councilor."_

Tevos bowed her head, extending both arms slightly. "The Council humbly apologizes for not being aware of your governments' proper designation. Based on the pieces of intelligence provided by the Systems Alliance, we believed both of your kind to be lead by the same organization."

" _The apology is not needed, Councilor. I understand given our cautious stance, you would have been unable to deduce our proper history, culture, and race."_

Etos saw the asari councilor's head turn to the humans. "Then would I be correct in assuming the Systems Alliance merely represents the human race?"

This time it was the human delegates turn to speak.

* * *

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **Council Chambers – Minutes Earlier**

Stunned did not properly describe the situation. Goyle had seen many incredible things during her career, but nothing could eclipse the plethora of every kind of alien life standing before her. Seeing photos of the many species was one thing, but it was certainly another to be standing merely feet away. Then there was the chamber where she stood.

Her overall impression of the Tower was of metal. Metal and sparse greenery. She had come from old stock, with homes on multiple planets, each with its own charm. What she had learned from one venerable gardener was that green did not just mean a certain _color_ , it encompassed a whole feeling. It rested the eyes, comforted the nose and soothed the hand. Splashes of color amongst the greenery gave the eye a place to track, motion in a static environment.

The Tower used that trait to perfection, planting bits of foliage in strategic locations to divert the eye. Colorful plants nestled between harmless-looking shrubs, and several taller plants gave the illusion of a deeper growth than one could normally expect on a space station.

Every bit of it led the eye to the stairs, leading towards the Council. It was a work of art, done in living material. Genius, when contemplated long enough.

But Goyle was expected to resist such temptation from absorbing her mind, unlike Adam and Eve.

"Then would I be correct in assuming the Systems Alliance merely represents the human race?"

Goyle smoothed the seam of her elegant robes and shook herself minimally. Her sharp eyes closed for the moment as she thought over one piece of information from the briefing before opening them again. The raloi had caught the Council off-guard, now it was up to her and her allies to take advantage. Again, she blessed the fact that the raloi had met with the Alliance peacefully; if the two had opened negation by fire … Lord only knew what would have happened.

She took her place in front of all the human delegates under the calculating gaze of the Council. It wasn't dissimilar from her colleagues. "That would be correct, councilor. The Systems Alliance is humanity's representative body of Earth and all her colonies. My colleagues here," She motioned to the four individuals standing behind her with a wave of her arm, "Are each from Earth's largest nations, whose militaries and civilians were instrumental in the repulsion of the batarian's invading force."

Her first words were stirring and bold, yet she had only merely begun.

"Likewise, the batarians have committed dozens of war crimes against their people, including mass murder, kidnapping, and torture. It is only because of our belief of peace that we wish to avoid extending any bloodshed so long as those who are responsible are brought to justice. The Coalition is here for that exact purpose."

A momentary pause soon followed, indicating her spectacular performance. She had now revealed the true nature of the alliance, but at the same time had given a proper name to identify the raloi and human union.

"It is good to hear ambassador, it is a tragedy that our people had to meet under such dire circumstances," Councilor Tevos said with a frown on her features … those all too human features.

"Indeed a tragedy on an immense scale," Goyle replied sadly; instantly she crafted a subtle jab of her own. "So many lives have been lost in the war for our colony. Even more so when hundreds of thousands of our citizens have been kidnapped and enslaved."

"As per the Citadels own conventions, a sovereign race's own cultural heritage must be respected." Once again the batarian ambassador inserted himself into the conversation. "The proud Hegemony will not conform itself to please others beneath it."

An intake of breath indicated annoyance. "I do not need to be reminded of the conventions considering my race was one of those who drafted it." Councilor Soliris pointed out. An acerbic look communicated better than words of her opinion of the batarian's argument.

"Councilor Soliris is correct," the resonating voice of Councilor Sparatus once again capturing attention, "If the Hegemony wishes to participate in such deplorable practices then they are free to do so, but they should leave the rest of the civilized galaxy out of it."

"You wish to discuss deplorable practices, _councilor_ ," the batarian ambassador vehemently spat out the title, "How about the clear attempt by this Council to improperly assign blame to the Hegemony without sufficient evidence to indict it. For that matter how do we know it was not the humans or even the raloi that activated the Relay? As we now know the previously unknown system has been confirmed to belong to them."

Inwardly, Goyle cringed. The batarian ambassador's deductive reasoning was not too far from reality. Up until this point, the Systems Alliance had failed to correct the turian's assertions as to who had really activated the Relay. Since the blame was being put on the shoulders of the race who had attacked humanity it seemed like a justified scapegoat, but if the real truth were ever to get out … it could greatly complicate matters.

"Ah yes a previously unknown civilization activating a dormant Mass Relay and attacking a Citadel affiliated race," Councilor Sparatus used pointed talons to emphasize his sarcasm, "We have already dismissed that claim."

"Regardless, whom activated the Relay is irrelevant at this point," Councilor Tevos said calmly. "What we are aware of, without question, is the many crimes carried out by Hegemony forces. Either they were sanctioned by your government ambassador or this is a clear sign of a rogue fleet operating on its own whims."

"While we disagree with the actions of the less respectable members of our race, I would like to remind everyone here that the Hegemony has not been made aware of the Council's findings. If you are truly committed to a peaceful resolution then I propose these proceedings be postponed until my government can carry out its own investigation on the matter."

Goyle began opening her mouth to protest, but Councilor Soliris beat her to the punch. "Impossible, the clear conflict of interest is too large for us to ignore. It is the reason why we haven't informed you of the events until now."

"Well if the Council had bothered to inform us of the situation, we would have cooperated and possibly even kept the slavers from escaping." The batarian folded his arms across his admittedly wide chest.

"Yes because that has worked _so well_ in the past." The sarcasm from Councilor Sparatus was undeniable. The turian apparently had a grudge, and held it well. The lack of respect was obviously driving the batarian ambassador slowly over the edge.

Goyle found that highly ironic. From what she deduced from the codex, both species placed a high value on respect, but the difference was how the turians gained it through merit whereas the batarians gained it from titles. Two species with such a core value embedded in their cultures, yet polar opposites of each other.

"I am not surprised at your behavior councilor," Pazness sneered, "You turians always believe your culture to be so superior, yet last time I checked you required a client race to handle your finances!"

Even from a detached outsider's perspective, Goyle couldn't help but raise her eyebrows. It was clear the jab was meant to hurt, and if the scowl appearing on the turian's councilor's face was any indication, the verbal reprisal was going to be ... formidable. She braced herself for whatever shouting match was about to occur.

"You wish to talk about cultures ambassador?" Goyle and everyone else turned their attention to Bowers, surprised he had taken this moment to speak up. Perhaps that was a good thing, considering he had defused whatever verbal volcanoes about to erupt, and had simultaneously stolen the spotlight.

"There was a time when my country once practiced slavery, a dark stain in our history. For nearly two centuries we sold our own countrymen, until a civil war divided us. At a time where we only had primitive weaponry, we killed hundreds of thousands of our own people, cultivating in over a million casualties. We have fought in wars spanning our entire homeworld, interstellar conflicts, and yet – to this day – that civil war remains the single bloodiest conflict that my country has ever waged!" No one dared stop Bower's tirade. Goyle silently approved, allowing him to take center stage.

"Yet upon its end, when the mourning fathers and weeping mothers sent their children to the afterlife, my country could stand with respect, atop the sacrifices of many brave men. It could honestly state that we could now abide our constitution, a document granting my fellow citizens unalienable rights such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!"

Perreau stepped forward, a deep anger suffusing his normally placid face. "The European Federation shares the same values and stands together with our North American allies." Goyle's approval grew; this continued the verbal assault, preventing any opening for the batarian ambassador to counter. "We expect nothing less than the most severe punishment against the batarians or else we have no choice, but to declare war."

"You dare challenge the Hegemony?!" The batarian ambassador pointed an accusing finger to Perreau. "I will tell you now primitive human you do not want to-"

"Primitive? Is that the word you use to describe the force that repelled one of your fleets and captured hundreds of thousands of your soldiers?" Hun's ghastly tone contrasted deeply to the weight of his words. "To show how genuine we are for peace, we are prepared to extradite all of them to your government. Well the ones that are found innocent of committing any war crimes at least, that should ease your burden of transportation cost greatly." Hun's disdain was well hidden, like the devil smiling upon a sinner.

"That certainly is a reasonable offer, don't you think so ambassador." Councilor Tevos' assertive tone made it clear there was to be no arguments.

Pazness grunted before admitting, "As best I can hope for, but how can I be assured my people are being treated properly, and in accordance with the Citadel Conventions?"

"We will allow a small turian security team from Admiral Servius' fleet to land on our colony and inspect the prisoners themselves." Goyle interjected. Arcturus might not be pleased when they learn of her proposal, but if the batarians wanted a third party to view the state of the prisoners then the turians would be the best bet.

"Unacceptable. The Hegemony doesn't have faith that the Hierarchy will operate in an objective and impartial manner. If possible we will like to send some of our own people, anything less would be unjust."

If Councilor Sparatus' glare became weaponized, burning lasers would have incinerated the batarian's skull. His clenched jaw and stiff shoulders displayed his raging fury at the amount of disrespect. Before he could speak however, Councilor Tevos was quick to intervene.

"Perhaps that may be so, but the fact remains it was a Hegemony fleet that attacked the Alliance's colony and I don't think either they nor the Hierarchy will be all too pleased to see a batarian affiliated vessel arriving in the system. Given the circumstances they wouldn't be wrong in assuming it to be hostile and that would greatly complicate matters, wouldn't you agree ambassador?"

Goyle raised her estimate of the asari's capabilities. That was yet another fire that she'd been able to put out.

"If you are so concerned for an impartial view," she continued, "then the Republics will send a party of humanitarian aid workers to ensure the detainees are treated properly, granted the Alliance holds no objections?"

"That can certainly be scheduled at a later date." Goyle replied, rather satisfied with the arrangements.

"And allow this Alliance to hide any atrocities they themselves may have committed, I-"

The batarian ambassador never got to finish, once again interrupted. "Like your kind has attempted to do?" Kapalkin's calm demeanor seemed to be made of ice. Goyle was impressed he hadn't interrupted sooner. "As the Council itself has stated, it is not our word that is being questioned it is yours."

"Hmph, with circumstantial evidence I might add." Panzess snarled.

"Ambassador, do you or do you not have any evidence to refute the human's claims?" Councilor Soliris questioned.

"I've already answered that question."

"Then we have no choice, but to proceed with what evidence we do have." Councilor's Sparatus mandibles twitched and flexed, indicating to Goyle that he was perhaps smiling. She felt she could make an accurate assumption as to why.

"This is an unfortunate matter, but one that must be dealt with swiftly to maintain peace and harmony," Tevos began. "While there is not enough evidence to indict the entire Hegemony government for the activation of a dormant Mass Relay," Goyle could see the batarian ambassador give a smug grin. It grated on her nerves to no end; despite the accuracy of the statement. "It is without question that a registered Hegemony national fleet was operating in the area, conducted military operations, and carried out numerous atrocities. Therefore the Hegemony is now liable for punishment."

"What!? This is preposterous!" Pazness seemed to screech at the top of his lungs, causing those with sensitive ears to slightly cringe.

The salarian Councilor took over. Based on the reactions of the audience, Goyle thought it probable she was the often-chosen member to deliver such messages. "The Council will accept nothing less than the complete return of all captives obtained from Shanxi, complete reparations for damages sustained to the Colony and respected Coalition navies plus ten percent, and new sanctions on trade with all Council races will be placed on the Hegemony. Trade agreements currently in progress will be re-evaluated and possibly renegotiated. Finally, the surviving crew of the Sixteenth Fleet must be extradited to the Citadel for trails."

"An outrage." The Batarian ambassador rose from his seat, "I will confer with my people, and then return with an appropriate response for your biased actions!"

"Just be thankful you haven't been banished yet from the station." Sparatus shot back as the batarian ambassador left.

An internal struggle plagued Goyle's mind. She was delighted to hear the Systems Alliance and the Confederacy would be able to stimulate its losses in terms of military infrastructure. Likewise the fact the Council sided with humanity by initiating sanctions against the batarians was another great bonus. But inarguably the best news was the Hegemony would be forced to relinquish all its slaves captured at Shanxi. Yet the lack of true punishment left a vile taste in her mouth. The batarians were still – nominally – a Citadel race, and had the protection offered by that aegis.

Strictly speaking, none of the Coalition could attack Hegemony holdings without being left open to Council reprisal. The fleet hovering outside the Citadel was a silent warning against such a route.

"Pardon me Councilors, but may I ask why the batarians are not being evicted from the Citadel? Surely after everything you have witnessed, you do not trust them." Phrasing the question posed difficulties; a poor choice of words might give the impression of questioning the legitimacy of such a decision, despite its generous terms. That would increase problems above and beyond what they currently had.

"That is a question of legality I am afraid," Soliris spoke. "The Council serves as mere intermediaries between each species' government and its purpose is to mediate any disputes. Legally speaking, the Council does not have any authority over individual governments, as that would interfere with their sovereignty. As you have seen today, it is not a perfect system, but it continues to be most effective."

"There is also the issue that the Coalition is not a Citadel-affiliated entity," Sparatus sighed, rubbing the tip of his nose, or the turian equivalent of one. "Like Councilor Soliris herself stated, we cannot issue harsher punishments unless we override both of your government's sovereignty. I can understand your frustration, after all your government is not the only one that has to send condolences to weeping mothers."

Goyle lowered her head, feeling as if the wind were knocked out of her. It hadn't been a jab directed towards her, rather a genuine moment of respect, but she couldn't believe that in light of everything she had forgotten that her species wasn't the only one to have suffered loss.

"If the Coalition would like to post-pone any further proceedings with the Council we could reschedule another appointment." Councilor Tevos words fell from her mouth as a mother would tend to a frightened child. Goyle could feel her heart skip a beat, the soothing words brushing into her ears.

She solemnly shook her head. Humanity couldn't afford to appear weak. The heroism and valor displayed on Shanxi were proof of that, valiant efforts tangible as the soldiers protecting her mere feet away. "While the events on are colony are truly tragic, we cannot let it dictate our future. We are ready to complete this proceeding."

" _As is the Confederacy,"_ Electore Phaux asserted. Perhaps he didn't want his people to be shown as weaklings either or maybe he simply refused to be out shined by the Alliance. Goyle wasn't sure, but was still grateful.

"Very well." Tevos smiled at her, "Then let us continue deeper in the discussions."

* * *

 **Citadel**

 **Presidium**

 **Council Chambers**

Tevos smiled, radiating warmth at the parties gathered. "The Council and all the races gathered here today would like to welcome the Systems Alliance and the Confederacy to the galactic community. While first impressions have been soured by unprovoked batarian aggression, we hope the future will continue an era of peace." Her words were welcomed by an ovation, dozens of individuals seated on the nearby balconies clapping with vigor.

"Before any associate race can join the Citadel there a prerequisites that must be met in order to ensure the stability of all governments," Sparatus intoned. "Of the most important is the Treaty of Farixen, which limits the number of dreadnoughts each species may field. Second to that are the Spectres, which operate on our behalf in discretion in order to preserve life. Finally, when it comes to military matters every race must obey the Council Conventions or face severe punishments like the batarians. If you have any weapons of mass destruction, understand that you are able to use them in dire situations, but are strictly forbidden from using them on Garden Worlds. This encompasses nuclear missiles, biological weapons, and orbital bombardment. "

"Of course that is merely defense," Soliris stated. "Technological progress is inevitable, but we maintain laws to prevent illegal proliferation of banned technologies considered too dangerous. These include unsanctioned genetic manipulation and perversion, creation of sentient AIs, and the usage of unwilling participates in experiments or to test products."

"In the spirit of co-operation we also require all of our associate races to share data from any Prothean artifacts they discover so that all may reap the benefits. Prior to receiving any embassies, each race must show that they acknowledge the existence of the Citadel and its laws." Tevos finished. The ease with which they had finished each others sentences, continuing a single train of thought gave a testament of the Council's unity.

" _Forgive my input, Councilors, but that is rather a large set of pre-requisites."_ The hologram of Electore Phaux flickered slightly. _"How will this impact the self-governance of our people?"_

"I can understand the anxiety one may have, but the restrictions aren't quite as severe as they appear on paper." Soliris quickly intervened. If the Council had a fish on the hook, then Soliris would make sure it was captured. Tevos silently complimented her colleague's quick nature.

"Almost every race that has ever joined the Citadel has found the stimulations to be very generous, especially considering what they receive." Tevos still retained some measure of shock from having to communicate with a leader backed by five hundred other members of his government. For a community the size of the Citadel, creating such a device as the hologram being used by the raloi was not a problem, but its high costs deemed it impractical for civilian purposes.

" _I am sure the benefits of joining the Citadel are vast, but could you please specify?"_ One of the female senators asked. Tevos acknowledged the raloi woman's question, quite pleased by the politeness the Confederation was showing.

"Protection from outside threats," Sparatus said. "The Hierarchy handles most peacekeeping patrols in conjunction with the indigenous race."

"And full access to the vast scientific breakthroughs the Citadel has made in the medical, engineering, communications, and agriculture fields. By sharing any discovered data on the Protheans the Citadel moves that much closer to a utopian society." Tevos continued. "In addition, members may have unrestricted access to Relay travel, throughout the entirety of Council space."

"That seems quite a justified trade." This time it was Goyle who spoke. "But I still have a few concerns and I am hoping they can be alleviated."

Tevos tilted her head in recognition, but made a subtle signal to her fellow Councilors. It was quite common for a new race to have reservations. "It would be the Council's pleasure to answer any questions you may have."

"According to the codex, the Council maintains an elite group dedicated to preserving galactic stability by whatever means necessary. What I would like to know is, considering their broad freedoms and lack of transparency, how will they impact our sovereignty? And how often are they deployed?"

"The lack of information on the Spectres is to safe guard their identity, though rest assured they do submit extensive reports to the Council after each mission. Their deployment should not impact the authority of a separate nation as their sole purpose is to ensure peace. Only if we receive sufficient evidence about a serious threat are they ever activated. The Council does not take the deployment of Spectres lightly." Soliris answered.

"I see, thank you for answering my questions." Goyle gave a smile to the Council to show her gratitude, but Tevos noticed that she had not mentioned whether her concerns were alleviated or not.

"How does the Council handle colonization rights?" This time it was one of the male human ambassador's who spoke. Wei Hun, if she remembered the name correctly.

"The Citadel Colonization Committee or C3, handles all colonization claims and rights." Soliris answered promptly. "If you wish, I will send you a full copy of their guidelines."

Discussions continued, extending long into the evening. They discussed further matters on colonization rights and boundaries. They were rather surprised to learn that Coalition territory overlapped with areas the Hegemony had been vying for control, even going as far as to claim ownership for some time now. Considering the actions from the batarian government, Tevos and the Council were happy to allow humans wide expansion rights, but warned them that future conflict with the Hegemony may be inevitable. They also made clear that they would have to stay officially neutral in such a conflict.

The teeth on human faces – and that of the raloi – convinced Tevos that conflict would not exactly be avoided at all costs. For good or ill.

Soon they had moved on, going over other matters concerning the many treaties, regulations, and conventions covered by the Citadel.

Negotiations entered the thirteenth hour. In fact the depth to which the Coalition sought information about the Citadel was a bit unnerving. Even Tevos, with her centuries of experience – and the patience to match – had to admit she was being overwhelmed.

"One of our greatest of inventions medi-gel came about genetic engineering. I am sure once you see the many benefits you will craft a few exceptions." The Federation's ambassador made a strong case, so strong Tevos could see her fellow Councilors ready to jump at the deal. If the data given by the humans were to be believed then this 'medi-gel' would revolutionize the entire medical industry. The vast data offered by the Coalition had been enough to keep Soliris' extensive mind to become occupied, something Tevos thought impossible.

"Very, well. Given the much life-saving potential this product has the Council will make an exception and allow it to be sold in Council space and on the Citadel."

Sparatus shuffled a talon, flipping screens on his tablet. It was fortunate they had chosen to sit; this was proceeding far longer than expected.

"Moving onto the Treaty of Fairxen." Sparatus took over the discussion, allowing Soliris to recover after the intense portion on medi-gel's medical potential. "At the Farixen Naval Conference, the Council races agreed to fix a ratio of dreadnought construction between ourselves due to their destructive potential. As peacekeepers, the turian fleet has the most. Just below the turians are the other Council races – the asari and the salarians. Council associate races, like the hanar and volus, are at the bottom of the list."

For a moment, Tevos regretted allowing Sparatus to take control of the subject. His frank attitude was a burden sometimes; no one wished to be known as the 'bottom of the list' after all.

"The ratio of turian to Council to associate dreadnoughts is 5:3:1." Sparatus continued, not noticing Tevos's discomfort. "Signing the Treaty of Farixen is a requirement for any race wishing to open an embassy on the Citadel."

"We can understand the need to regulate such dangerous vessels," the ambassador known as Kapalkin spoke. For the entirety of the proceedings, he had remained silent so to hear him speak was quite a surprise. "With that said will our carries be subjected to the treaty?"

"Considering, from what we've inferred, your carriers are … rather megalithic ships, but because they are designed to carry and transport mass amounts of vehicles, space craft, and troops across the galaxy and not specifically designed to combat enemy ships and/or bombard planetary targets their construction will not be included in the Treaty's policy."

"That is the last of our concerns Councilors, once again thank you for taking the time to address all of our concerns." Goyle smiled at them. Tevos felt a small shiver run down her spine; the expression had been similar to that of a _cathar_ shark on Thessia. Perpetually grinning, always hungry.

" _We understand the list was a rather long one, but the patience and time afforded to us truly shows you are genuine in seeking a more peaceful society,"_ Electore Phaux said.

A small smile appeared over Tevos face. Once again her efforts to secure peace had paid off and now the Citadel could greet two additional races upon the station.

"However, we must respectfully decline membership. Based on the structure of how Spectres operate, the limitation of our fleets particularly after how we've been attacked, and the fact that the Hegemony remains a member of the Citadel – the Coalition cannot in good faith accept membership." Goyle's words had a resounding impact.

Tevos stumbled over her words, trying to gather her bearings. Only once before in the Citadel's history had a race ever declined membership, The krogan had been reluctant to join, until they'd heard of the rachni and seen a challenge worthy of their mettle. Yet even without the rachni, they had been highly interested; at worst, estimates had shown they would have joined a mere century later. Perhaps the Colation was similar?

She managed to recover before her colleagues, and swiftly adopted an understanding mien. "We are sad to hear this, but understand membership is not advantageous for everyone." Sparatus flinched behind her back, but only someone well-versed in turian dynamics would have noticed.

Soliris – quick as ever – merely followed her lead and gave an equally considerate half-bow. "In the interests of forging a good relationship between our peoples, it would be unwise to ignore each other however. The clouds will not return to their origin, at the days end. Would you consider a minor affiliation?"

"Such as?"

"We will recognize the Coalition to remain a neutral and sovereign state outside of Citadel jurisdiction, on the condition that they abide by the Citadel Conventions while within Council space. The Coalition will receive an embassy to maintain dialogue on the basis of cultural rights and be treated as sovereign soil and vice-versa. Other matters such as colonization and trade rights can be negotiated at a future date. Would your Coalition agree to these terms?"

Tevos mentally prepared herself for a refusal. The krogan, according to her research, had required nearly a month of negotiation before learning of the rachni. However, she was quite pleased when the lead Coalition ambassador nodded.

"The Coalition accepts these terms and agreements and will abide by them for as long as the Council and the races affiliated with it abide by our own."

With that, the ambassadors believed the session to have concluded displayed by their body language. The raloi hologram disappeared and the human dignitaries gave a polite bow before being escorted out of the Chambers. As they left the Council chambers through the back exit, Tevos saw one of the news monitors that hung everywhere in the Citadel. On it was a vid of the council talking to the human minister. The text in the bottom read: _'Newcomer civilizations decline to join the galactic community and remain sovereign states. Negotiations with the batarians break down, parties are unable to reach an agreement, has the Citadel council allowed a rouge state to form?'_

 _'By the goddess, this was really one of those days.'_

* * *

 **A/N:** And there you guys have it, the big negotiations chapter! I would like to address some concerns some of you will have.

If any of you are unsatisfied with either the punishment on the batarians or feel that humanity got the short end of the stick, though I would argue that isn't the case, the thing is diplomacy in the real world are a complex and frustrating thing. I mean look at my home countries election cycle, U.S for those interested, it is something that you cannot call simple. Also like I said many times, the Council in this fic is actually trying to keep the peace and unlike many other stories here they aren't a bad guy.

In regards to the human slave issue, I will like to point out one sad fact: No matter how hard you try you cannot save everyone and that is a theme that will remain constant in the fic. Likewise if you will see in the next chapter how trust-worthy they really are, sarcasm. And likewise you will also see how humanity responds to that. I know I will have someone who claims there is no way humanity would ever go something as big as this go unanswered, to which you are correct I mean the SA do have the SGB.

Let me give you guys a life lesson, never piss of the guy who has 85 megaton nukes and goes through them like batteries on a TV controller.

My partners and I have displayed immense surprises and plot twists thus far so kindly allows the trust that we do have something big planned and haven't taken the easy route or left something as fundamentally big to the story as this alone.

Lastly, some of you have expressed interest in Dawn of Titans have its own TV tropes page. For those of you that don't know TV tropes is a wiki that collects and expands descriptions and examples on various conventions and devices ( **tropes** ) found within creative works. One popular example would be ProfFartBurger's Warverse stories: The First War and The New Face of War. Unfortunately I have to state that the site is a reviewers suggestion site, meaning as an author I can't advertise my own story and it has to be an separate individual. That being said if any of you want to see DoT gets its own TV tropes a page either create an account and suggest it on the Fanfic recommendations page or simply keep annoying the admins of the site until the story gets on there. Which ever works. Also if any of you do so, make sure V-cringetorix's AU stories get on there as well because I've been trying like hell to get it on there but no dice.

Anyway until next time.

 **Trivia:**

1\. This chapter is one of the few that has given me the most grievances due to the complexity of its nature. That being said, it is only thanks to my partner V-cringetorix that this chapter was finished so quickly. Everyone who enjoys this chapter please send him a PM thanking him for his contribution on this fic or better yet check out his stories they are really great.

2\. Like mentioned above this chapter has gone through some of the most rigorous editing imaginable. It has gone through review four separate times to make sure it was on par with our standards.

3\. The Citadel descriptions were partially inspired by the Chicago skyline, whilst traveling at night.

4\. The raloi projection was inspired by the Star Wars Episode 1: Phantom Menace Neimodian Projector. (That being said, I am really excited for Rogue One)

5\. Politics are still V-rcingetorix's Achilles Heel, so understand the hard work he put on this chapter alone.

6\. For all those ME meme fans, how do you all love Sparatus now? I personally wrote that quote "Ah yes ... we have dismissed that claim.' ahead of a lot of stuff mainly because I couldn't help it and I am sure many of you will enjoy it.

Clearly, Sparatus is now our favorite councilor so make sure to vote for him for re-election. Campaign slogan, 'Make the Citadel great again!' (Okay I'll stop now)

Another reason why we did this was so that we can have a nice balance of dark tone, yet have some comedy to destroy the tension. And folks you are going to need it because the next is extremely dark.

7\. This chapter comes in at 14k words, not necessarily the biggest we had thus far but a nice chunk. Yet you will be shocked to learn we had to cut a lot of content to avoid dragging things out and ending where we wanted to. Plus a good chunk of the stuff that we cut, while good, was really hard to insert it without destroying the character's personas we've cultivated thus far.

8\. Well for those of you who have played close attention you will know a lot of stuff is yet unverified. For example, check out humanity's battleships and the amount the SA has versus the amount of dreadnoughts currently employed. Add in carries and now you have a super power wielding formidable ship vessels unrestricted by the treaty due to ... loop-holes.

I personally think humanity has an edge when conferring about the Treaty of Farixen, because we have tried something similar: The Treaty of Washington, which the Farixen treaty is based off of.

The Japanese skirted the treaty by building large ships with the minimal gun batteries, which the Imperial Navy then inserted the much larger guns it had in their arsenal during their preparation for war.

Here the SA does something similar by placing concentration on battleships and carriers, both classes of vessels that fall outside of the Council's description of a dreadnought. The Council views them as capital ships, the SA views them as artillery pieces. An important distinction.

9\. Here we see the main name for the Confederacy/SA alliance; the Coalition. This was inspired heavily by NATO and I think serves as the best proper name of identifying them as other fics have gone with less ... formal names.

10\. For those Tom Clancy universe fans you will know that the three of the Big Four ambassadors are the leaders of their respective factions in either Endwar or Splinter Cell.

11\. Out of all the trivia notes for each chapter, this one has the most in-depth and possibly the most extensive.

12\. I inputed the future title for one of DoT's sequels during Tevo's POV. See if any of you can catch it.


	22. Chapter 22 - Bitter Reflections

1-25-2157 0500 hours (Alliance standard time)

 _ **HSS Superiority**_

 **Dreadnought**

 **Command Deck**

It was a rather distressing aspect in the state naval warfare, to bear witness to such momentous successes, and also agonizing loss. Especially if such losses couldn't be returned home, forsaken to the positions where they fell. It was a terrible vision to behold, the stoic hulls of war vessels, composed of varying tonnages … ranging from the nimble corvette to the almighty dreadnought that once encompassed the crown jewel of the Hegemony Fleet … now resembling nothing more than mere flotsam. Each ship bore the normal signs of space combat, armor warped and twisted by mass accelerator weapons while hulls blurred into smears from high intensity lasers.

That was the cost of the supposed Great Raid. Toren's now proven incompetence, a miserable display.

 _'One hundred and ninety nine ships, all that survived.'_ Ban took the losses with a cold, hard gaze, condemning the status and crew of each ship with a single swipe of a finger. The casualties were severe, reducing the fleet to just under half strength. The cost to replace them … astronomical.

 _'Even in death I still feel your sting, Toren.'_ While the miserable slaver had perished in a fitting end, Ban regretted not being able to abuse the batarian with his own hands. _'If only your death was that much more painful, perhaps I would have been satisfied.'_

From the command deck, he watched his ship circle the planet alone, silent in the vacuum. Stealth was a catchphrase, a buzzword used by less intellectually inclined people. The word suggested subterfuge, a cunning mind that circumvented defenses without being seen. What it really meant was to be seen, but ignored; flaunting your presence while your foe was helpless to do anything about it. Taunting, in other words.

Ban shifted in his chair, checking the readouts. No, the better option was to be invisible.

Contrary to popular beliefs, the best defense was not an attack. Attacking to defend meant you failed to properly anticipate an enemy action, in turn throwing lives away to cover for your mistake.

The best defense was to not be present where the enemy attacked. Know the enemy so well that you could anticipate his attacks, and force them to be wasted on nothing. Empty blows, swung at shadows. Men, who struck wildly overbalanced, became weak because of their supposed strengths.

 _'Stealth. Hah.'_

Over the course of his long career, he had learned that tactic well, especially while maneuvering the political channels amongst the upper levels of the Hegemony. Warfare of another form, an old general had called it.

Snorting, Ban checked his sensors again. If politics were war by other means, it was obvious why some cultures had eliminated slavery; they were far too unskilled to avoid being enslaved. To remove slavery meant to also remove the incentive to avoid being enslaved, where only the strong would succeed as free men. Those who never feel the wrath of oppression will never know the value of true freedom.

A light flickered on his panel, highlighting the communication icon. Ban tapped the switch, arranging his face into a pleasant look that didn't hold a single hint of threats. Oddly, it seemed to intimidate more people than he'd have thought.

Debriefings had always seemed like an odd spectacle for him. Missions deemed important enough or suicidal for the Sixteenth Fleet were not typically the kinds of situations that held a middle ground between absolute failure and overwhelming success. Therefore, the meetings tended to be two types of emotions: encouraging praise or barely contained anger. Given how the Raid turned out, Ban suspected what particular sentiment this meeting would have. Fortunately, he'd taken precautions. After being sure of having escaped both the human and turian fleets, and traveling to a border region in the Traverse, obligatory contact with his superiors had been made. No matter how ugly the probable result.

 _"Admiral. I have news."_

He nodded, gesturing for the unknown batarian to continue.

 _"The Council has ruled on the debacle. The results were less than promising; they have decided to allow the Hegemony to maintain its embassy on the Citadel, but are extending a demand that every human taken on Shanxi be returned. They are also demanding we pay reparations as they turn around and slap more sanctions on our proud people, the hypocrites."_ The voice was flat, unemotional. Obviously a professional. Ban respected that.

"That is poor hearing," he replied, "but not exactly something that concerns me. What else?"

The other batarian smirked. _"With the evidence you have procured displaying the Na'hesit gross incompetence and great betrayal, the Hegemony feels you have performed admirably and praises you for your excellent foresight. The loss of the slaver forces are considered negligible. With that in mind it seems that you will receive their payment, compensation for their reprehensible performance."_

"I thank you for the immense generosity."

 _"I must ask,"_ the unknown head tilted forwards, _"Did we lose a considerable amount of the product aboard the destroyed ships?"_

"To an extent, but the quality was less than our described parameters. I am also highly skeptical on the likely hood of it being used by the slavers; they exhibited a critical lack of discipline."

 _"That would certainly undercut our profits, but onto other business. Unfortunately, the resources you have requested to restore your fleet have been denied."_ A note of regret entered the distant speaker's voice.

Ban growled; he'd served his people well, for over sixteen long years and this was his reward? The growing frustration inside him threaten to erupt, seeking any excuse to blow a fuse. But … there had to be more. "And?"

 _"The Council has decreed you and your men stand trial for the raid conducted on the humans. Lucky for you, the Hegemony is unwilling to waste your talents and has re-assigned you to Lorek in the Fathar System. In addition, the Eleventh Raiding Fleet has been placed under your command."_ A sardonic smile flickered around the edges of the distant face, _"Congratulations."_

"Absolutely not." Ban folded his arms across his broad chest. "I asked for trained soldiers, not undisciplined children. This is an insult to me and my men."

Now the unknown batarian facial expression underwent a transformation, tightening jaw, narrowing eyes, and rigid posture all indicating Ban had crossed a line. " _Like it or not, absorption of the Eleventh Fleet remains the best option for your own fleet to return to full strength."_

Ban responded in kind. He was _the_ foremost naval admiral in the Hegemony. No _one_ gave insult lightly. "How is handing me some of the laziest, most unskilled, and unmotivated recruits the Hegemony has ever produced conceivably a solution to my problem? They lack sufficient combat experience, and their vessels are ancient even by quarian standards! You know as well as I that they're named a raiding fleet only because they attack backwater colonies, just to scavenge enough material to keep their ships from imploding!"

 _"If I recall correctly, there was a time when the Sixteenth Fleet was no more special than any other fleet, and yet you've managed to transform it into our greatest weapon."_ The face sighed, and nodded slowly. _"The Hegemony feels you can do the same for the Eleventh, and forge them into greatness as you've previously done. Now as for the product itself, how many did you manage collect?"_

"A total of about seven hundred fifty thousand slaves remain under my control. With the few pieces of intelligence my troops managed to collect during the raid, we can properly estimate when a youngling should reach adolescence for clients with more … particular interests."

Neither mentioned names. Asari were proud of their independent heritage, and highly articulate in their disapproval of slaving tactics. They were also hypocritical; members of their species were considered highly favored customers. Off the records, of course. A species so similar to the asari would be worth their weight in element zero – gold-plated element zero.

 _"Have you decided on a proper retail price?"_

"Yes. As always, there will be a bit of variance. For a race that displays such ferocity and intelligence, I believe anything less than eighty thousand credits for a proper adult of either gender would be a crime. For those captured under the age of proper adolescence the price should remain around two hundred fifty thousand - blood relations will cost double on both age levels of course. Twins triple. I will also be offering multiple bundles for clients seeking slaves with specific skills."

While a master of war, Ban had not risen to his position by remaining unaware of the nature of business. And no one double-crossed him.

 _"That is good to hear, admiral good to hear. This news may do some justice for you; your fleet has been granted five percent of the profits to rebuild. There is a small trading post a few Relays from your current location. As of now, your orders are to go there to resupply and rearm, unload some of the product if you have to. An approved banker will be there to monitor the transaction and give you your cut. Then once you are ready, send the rest of the product to Torfan. The holding cells there are better suited for quarantine. You should be able to sell the majority of your captured product there as well_."

"I see." Ban kept his face even, a stoic mask from behind which he observed the world. "Inform the Joint Chiefs that I hear and obey."

The face smiled at him. _"I hope the next time we communicate; the circumstances will be far more pleasurable."_

Ban waited until the channel closed. Only then did he begin to laugh. His vid-com had been considerably more obligatory than expected, but the potential alternatives could have been so much worse. _So_ much worse.

The mission had been an unprecedented disaster. Never before had any of his assignments gone so terribly wrong. Even with the large pool of slaves acquired, he'd been left with hardly any tangible fruits to show for his labor … and yet the Hegemony gifted him with a second chance.

Ban glanced wearily at the sensor read connected to the galaxy map for easy access, idly inserting the new coordinates. His crew began the procedures necessary for contact with the Mass Relay. He waited patiently, staring deep into the void as his pummeled ship moved towards the system's Relay, accompanied by the remnants of his fleet. Plan after plan flashed through his mind – altering, changing as variables floated to the surface of his mind. The future was uncertain, beyond anyone's control, how could anyone prepare?

* * *

 ** _HSS Will Breaker_**

 **Troop Transport**

 **Slave Barge (1138A)**

"Keep moving, slaves!" Balak barked harshly. Other guards did the same from atop supply crates, a few even using whips to encourage obedience. Each was armed with a collection of appropriate tools; hard cuffs, shock batons, stunner weapons – and in case they were needed – a few lethal weapons. As if that were not enough, a guard stood nearby, restraining a trusty varren, the beast snarling at slow moving slaves.

Balak gritted his teeth at the pain jolting through his body. He tried to resist howling like a weakling, focusing past the intense throbbing sores of his now treated wounds. Onboard medical staff had taken out bits of shrapnel embedded across his body, slash marks indicating their former resting places.

Panting slightly, he held his ribs with his left arm, the area where he had taken the most damage. The memories of battle still brought chills to his spine, those monstrous humans and their behemoth vehicles. They resembled krogan more than anything else. And the way they had massacred his men …

Balak scowled. The raid had gone better than he'd feared, but more poorly than he'd hoped. They had capture enough slaves from the unique race to live like kings, but like royalty, their lavish life-style had come at a great cost.

"What are you looking at? Keep moving." Balak's gravely, dual-toned voice dripped from his tongue like harsh sand paper. He flicked his wrist, letting the shock baton in his hand ignite, throwing sparks at random. Several bits fell on less attentive beasts, making them bleat in pain. The look of fear on the slave faces ignited a sadistic fire in his own four, beady black eyes.

He swatted another slow moving slave with the shock baton, blasting 40 milliamps of mind numbing pain. It took multiple hits before the slave got moving, the pained cries largely ignored by the many others being escorted to available pens. Like the cattle they were, fear brought obedience. He watched with glee as the human failed silently in agony while his naked body spasm in torment on the floor.

Balak stared at the slave, watching him pant and wheezing through clenched teeth. The results of a shock baton, mostly used to prod varren and other undomesticated animals, were severe, causing every muscle to feel like being set on fire.

"Please stop." The slave begged, "Mercy!"

"Slaves don't decide when their suffering ends. I do," Balak retorted and struck the slave once more. Instantly, the slave's body contorted again, his head thrashing against the floor. His forehead gained another cut, leaking blood onto the floor.

The slave shook at his feet. His eyes expressed a desire to yell, to scream, but Balak knew he was paralyzed by the pain. Anyone subject to this level of torment was powerless, only able to hope for the pain to end. His eyes rolled backwards, trying but failing to lose consciousness as Balak continued electrocuting him.

That was the benefit of the shock baton; it induced pain, but circumvented the segment allowing unconsciousness. Sufficient exposure would deaden the neuro-receptors, but only after years of it.

For the slave it had to have felt like an eternity, but for Balak it was only a few moments of pleasant revenge. Revenge for the humiliation he had suffered, revenge for the gross arrogance the mongrels held, and most of all, revenge for the massacre of his unit.

Yet, Balak showed some measure of restraint. Damaged slaves meant less profit, and owners tended to enjoy breaking their slaves themselves. Pulling the baton away, he hissed in the human's ear. "I hope you enjoy your new life."

The slave's head lolled against the bars pathetically, blood dripping over his limited number of eyes, blurring his vision.

"Your species is new to the galaxy and I know many people will be curious to see what entertainment your kind will be able to provide." Balak crouched, waving the shock baton in front of the human's face, waiting until a panicked expression started growing. "Do you humans know how to fight for entertainment? Your kin demonstrated strength … can you show the same mettle in the battle-sands of Kar'shan?"

The human's eyes widened, breathing increased. Balak smiled again. Slaves talked amongst themselves; it was a fact. The more this one feared his master, the more terror would spread among the others. "Perhaps that isn't your strength. A different task, possibly?"

Nodding, the human lurched forwards, hands clasped. "Anything," he whispered. "Please …."

"Anything?" Balak threw his head back laughing, a release from the darkest part of his soul. "The mines then? Or perhaps," he focused two eyes on the paling face, "warming a bed? The women of my race prefer a strong opponent; we kill the weak you know, in most … _interesting_ fashions."

He stood, chuckling still. "The mines always need new slaves. Or the doctors; we still know so little of your kind. Your mate would be a good substitute, I think. Or maybe she will find her way to me, while you take to the mines?"

The human fell on his face, pleading. Balak ignored the pathetic mewling, and brushed his stun baton's tip across the back of the human's hands. The human screamed, reeling backwards.

Balak shrugged away the blood that had gathered on his boot tops. One of the more comely wenches could be forced to clean them. Or not. Work had to be done.

* * *

 **A/N:** Credit to V-cringetorix, who was incredibly instrumental in writing this chapter. The concept was my idea, but it was he who brought it to him and I think you guys should thank him by either leaving a review in his story Unwelcomed Discovery or Early discovery.

Also I have an important announcement to make: much like for the last arch we will once again be undergoing a hiatus, however this one will be much longer because of the amount of work my partners and I are experiencing. Both me and V are close to obtaining degrees and I myself am looking to getting a job, which prospects are looking good. Anyways thank all you guys for your support and feedback.

 **Trivia:**

1\. Originally there was supposed to be four chapters for this arch, but V-cringetorix and I figured it was best to show what became of Ban both present and in the near future. This was done to highlight the repercussions he will have to face.

2\. Batarians are described as shrewd businessmen, and here we get to see that with Ban discussing selling slaves like we do with burgers. (And I am now going to Burger King, don't judge me!)

3\. V-cringetorix and I actually had a lengthy conversation regarding the price of slaves based on age, skill, gender, etc. The final result was decided that a slave with skills would be sold on par what a yearly salary would be for a worker with those same skills. Its up to you to decide if our numbers are correct or a bit low, but when dealing with these things we honestly don't know how the batarians can maintain slavery if it won't be a ludicrous business.

4\. Likewise, Balak is trying to suppress his demons. The SGB truly scared him shit-less and he tries to suppress his insecurity by beating a powerless human.

5\. For those of my reviewers who wished to know what the losses were for the batarians, well here it is. Ban has lost a total of 203 ships. That are some really crippling losses, and here we see him trying desperately to rebuild it quickly. Much like China trying to industrialize, you know there is going to be a big mess involved.

6\. If you are an avid ME canon fan then you will know Lorek, the planet that Ban is ordered to go is the batarian annexed asari colony. Apparently they never gave it back.


	23. Chapter 23 - Reason for inactivity

Response to reviewers. I am sure many are aware of when the next chapter is going to be up, unfortunately I am not sure since I am currently recovering from brain surgery and may not have much time to write especially with my college courses, that being said I feel that making you guys aware of my situation would help explain my lack of activity as well as allow me to address some of my critics of the story, of which there are very few.

Axcel chapter 21 . Nov 15, 2016

You forgot to take into account that every human nation even modern first world nations would go to total war (including bombing population centers) over far less than the Batarians did. You aren't filling a "you can't save everyone" theme, you are ignoring reality. A human nation in modern times doing what the Batarians did would be crushed. If they are too strong for that, major cities' anti-ballistic missile defenses would be defeated and then at least one of those cities would be nuked.

Hell, nations go to war over a few hundred to a few thousand people being murdered. Shanxi saw millions be raped, murdered, and enslaved. We would end them and the Turians would gleefully help us do it.

Response: No they wouldn't there is this thing called the genevea conventions that would prohibit what you just described as a genocide and a huge war crime. A human nation doing what the batarians did would be crushed under an international coalition in accordance with the genevea conventions. You don't commit atrocities to avenge an atrocity that is not how the world works or else you become the bad guy.

Axcel chapter 20 . Nov 15, 2016

Sending multiple ambassadors for the reasons you say makes no sense. You've heavily implied the Big Four are members of the Alliance, so an Alliance ambassador would satisfy them. Also, not even China and Russia would risk humanity appearing fractured. They would know fulll well the aliens could try to take advantage of that which would only cause those two countries to get kicked to the curb by everyone else. They are not stupid. Neither are any other superpower.

Response: Humanity sent multiple ambassadors to that their nation could be represented as individuals much like how NATO countries still maintain sovereignty. Each nation is still vying or individual power, which is basic human nature. Plus it was one massive bluff on the part of the big four, which ended up working.

Axcel chapter 17 Nov 14, 2016

800 meters is the minmum for a dreadnaught. 1.9km would be considered some sort of super dreadnaught. FYI, Alliance cruisers in canon are roughly 750 meters long. Turian cruisers are a little over 500 meters long. I can see it now "see? It isn't really a dreadnaught. So what if we have hundreds of them?"

Reponse: Yes we are aware that 800 meters I the minimum for a dreadnought and the 1.9km is considered a special dreadnought as described in the story. Also we are alliance cruisers are canonically 750 meters long, also I am not sure what the end of your question is asking.

Axcel chapter 17 . Nov 14, 2016

What particle accelerator? If you mean the Thanix cannon, it's not. Also, you are giving the Citadel species advancements that came from studying Sovereign and the Geth after the Battle of the Citadel. That has not happened so they would still be the same as they are in ME1. Have 't changed in two thousand years, aren't going to be changing.

Response: We are well aware that the thanix cannon is not a particle accelerator, the fic is an a/u after all so there about to be some changes in the advancements of the races.

You said they use QEC, so the com buoys destruction would have no effect on communication. Quantum Entanglement is unaffected by distance and is instantaneous.

Response: Only capital ships use QEC and even then they are limited by bandwidth so the Alliance will still need com buoys for regular

Axcel chapter 15 . Nov 14, 2016

Human rifles lack accuracy? Clearly you've never used a modern military rifle. You've also forgotten how horribly inaccurate weapons are in the games.

Axcel chapter 7 . Nov 14, 2016

I would debate portability and versatility of the small arms. In real armies, a scope is added to their assault rifles to make the real equivalent of something like the ME's incisor snipe rifle (a DMR, basically). Also, Alliance weapons would be made from light materials like the ME weapons. Human miliataries also make extensive use of various attachments and underslung weapons and such. So, ME vs Human small arms has nearly equal portability and human arms would have a significant edge in versatility.


	24. Chapter 24 - Innocent Lost

**A/N:** All right I am back! Now this doesn't come without its bad news. I know I usually leave these notes at the end of the chapter, however the reason for this is rather important. Typically I finish an arch prior to uploading the first chapter so I can follow up with regular weekly or biweekly updates, however this time it is different. With finishing up my degree in Civil Engineering, having an internal hemorrhage that took me out for two months, and going for a long time without updates, I decided to upload this chapter and instead do the usual route that other authors take in that they update rather infrequently chapter by chapter. Note that this does not mean that the quality of the fic will go down only that it will be updated infrequently. I hope you guys enjoy this nice 10k worded chapter because I have no idea when the next one is coming.

Also this chapter is made with the idea that ME races still use planes for in-colony commercial flights as only the Asari have managed to have sky-cars be standard for their citizens. As such if any of you guys out there have knowledge claiming otherwise, you will need to have some suspension of belief.

* * *

2-24-2157 0665 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Nevada**

 **United States**

 **Undisclosed Location**

Right after he awoke in the cold, stinking cell, Turik' Han found himself being worked over by professionals. Not that this was a good thing, or a bad one, it existed independently as fact.

A sheet of icy cold water slammed into his face – ripping him back to cruel consciousness. The rigid liquid poured down his naked chest and pooled around his bare feet. Shivering violently, his breath billowing clouds of freezing mist, he grunted at the stout slap to the face that followed; droplets of water from his hair sprayed the wall. Metal cuffs bit into his wrists behind him.

Even in the weary state he was in, Han could remember everything that had happened since his capture over the blasted human colony. After the massive ariel counter-attack had obliterated his force he had been captured by the same force, albeit different unit, he attempted to wipe out on the bridge.

The steel bars caged him in like a ordinary slave, the stone scratched and scrawled with years of graffiti in multiple languages that were not his own. The high arched ceiling served to amplify the noise below, stains streaking the walls in mute testimony to his lack of importance. A chair placed in the middle was where he now sat. Nearby, he could glimpse tables for various tools and other implements.

Other chairs nearby were placed for the audience. The dank smell he could scent was a mixture of corroded steel, damp stone, and fear. The latter smelt strong, like old blood and pain.

The men holding him were JSF – that much he knew. The few words from the alien language he managed to pick up told him as much. This wasn't an interrogation so much as running commentary of how they didn't appreciate his role in the raid against their colony. This room was just the setting for their particular brand of revenge.

With alarming frequency, he would be dragged out and tossed onto the stone floor, in an exhausted, quivering heap. They asked him a few questions in his own language, barely seeming to know what they said. Some of their questions were printed on pieces of fibrous material, and one man had them on a silk fabric. Of course, he wouldn't reveal what little he understood of the human's language. However, extracting information appeared to be their goal.

The cycle repeated constantly. Anytime he tried to sleep, the humans would play intolerable noises or alarms to interrupt his rest. Only one meal a day was given to him, enough for living, but not enough to fill him. It was almost done as a half-hearted afterthought or sideshow for the main event.

To his surprise, his captors didn't take the process as far as actual physical torture; even the most inexperienced interrogator under his own command would have begun knives treatment by now. These humans though, acted like well-fed varren, toying with him but not breaking him. They would let him recover just enough for further questioning before making him sink beneath the weight of his own exhaustion. In Han's more lucid moments he wondered what the humans had in store – and it terrified him.

Keeping time by tracking the guard's shifts worked for an interval; he hadn't seen daylight since the raid. At first, he had hungrily devoured every detail; who worked, when they worked, to whom they spoke. He paid particularly close attention to their weapons, equipment, and rank symbols, theorizing that any escape attempt needed such information. Every sight, sound, and smell was catalogued. However, the forced sleep deprivation and the constant changes soon put an end to that.

Whoever these humans were, they were efficient in keeping information well hidden – frustratingly well hidden.

Seated in the noisome darkness left few tasks for Han's mind. To counter this danger, he recited passages from the Pillars. Every third _koan_ he reached back into his memories, recalling his selection and training in the Hegemony, when the class had been visited by former POWs who'd shared their stories. But for all the he did to prevent it, the thin ice of hope protecting his sanity was beginning to fracture; cracks spreading, allowing dark fantasies of despair and death to bleed to the surface.

Soon the days and weeks began to blend. Being kept in isolation for long periods of time nearly drove him mad, but luckily the Pillars kept him occupied. Daily, even hourly, he prayed for strength to be able to survive the next day.

Just then the steel cage opened, the creaking noise told him as good as an alarm. He looked up, seeing yet another interrogator, who did not appear to be any hurry to talk to his captive.

' _Why would they? They have me right where they want me. I am not going anywhere, no matter how much I desire.'_

"General Turik' Han, commanding officer of the 23rd Infantry, 5th Order of the Hegemony Armed Forces." The official clicked over an electronic device held in one hand, considering its secrets. Its hidden depths were not the greatest surprise, however. "Your unit fought at Shanxi, attempting to gain control of a vital set of bridges before human reinforcements arrived and repelled the attack. Not exactly something to put that on an Alliance resume now, is it?"

The question came at him in near perfect batarian, exquisitely accented. It amazed him at how fast the humans were gaining information, especially since he'd gathered so little in return.

"I know very well you can understand me. If you cooperate we will make this very easy on you."

Han couldn't stop himself from laughing. How naive did this human think he was? His laugh ended in a cough, tugging on the restraints holding him captive. His growl held teeth in it. "You have another thing coming if you think I would help you human."

The official returned the favor, albeit not as bluntly. "All we need is information and your cooperation. As of now you have nothing left to lose. We could kill you right now and no one will even notice you gone. Hell, I highly doubt your own government is aware of your capture."

Han merely grunted in response. The human had a point, but there was no need to give it the satisfaction of confirmation.

"Fortunately for you we are not interested in the Hegemony directly." The official tapped the electronic pad, giving him time to think.

 _That_ caught Han by surprise. _'After everything that happened, they don't desire revenge? No; a lie. No sentient being would be so altruistic. Or pragmatic.'_

As if reading his mind, the interrogator continued. "Difficult to believe, but true. Our intelligence agencies have concluded that the Hegemony is not partaking in the selling or buying human slaves directly, but rather handing those responsibilities off to slavers." The interrogator took a moment to stare him directly in the eye, emphasizing his next statement. "The same slavers indirectly responsible for your capture. So tell me General Han, what can you tell me about a place called Torfan?"

Finally the pieces clicked into place, it all made sense now; the humans wanted their _people_. What better way to hurt the fools than by taking the very reason they existed? A sinister smile appeared on Han's face, worthy of a feeding Kaelen Bone-striker. "Just about everything you need to know."

"Then it seems we can help each other out."

"It appears so." In his mind, Han thought of only one simple thing: Vengeance. _'Finally I will repay them in the only currency they know: blood.'_

* * *

 **Sidobia**

 **Bostra**

 **Spaceport**

The dead lay throughout the cabin. Their bodies stank in the still air, despite their metallic composition. Four men, two women, all turian. A flight attendant, air marshal, and one civilian who had looked like he might start trouble were on one side of the room, while a turian diplomat had been caught in the crossfire. A pity; he could've been extorted as a hostage. Another female turian had been shot for screaming, her screeching threatening to shatter the glass windows.

Not all fatalities had been enemy, however: there was one martyr. Unlike the six dead nonbelievers, Benya Crekpaba's body had not been dumped across the seats. No, his brothers had laid him gently on his back, arms draped across his chest. A clean starched napkin from a first-class dining cart lay over his face, the two running ends of his red headband just visible. Crekpaba had been the leader of the six-strong cell of the _Fetin_ fighters. He and his men had boarded this aircraft two days earlier dressed like business men returning from a telemarketing conference in Bostra. Crekpaba had gone to the rear galley shortly after takeoff, while the rest of the passengers sat strapped into their seats, compliant like meatbirds chained to posts in the marketplace.

He'd found the case left for him by a brother whom worked in food industry at the Bostra International Spaceport; from it Crek quietly passed out Tempest submachine guns. He'd donned the light ballistic vest left in the bag and slipped the hand-grenade into his pocket, before the seven _Fetin_ operatives rushed up the aisles and took over the freighter.

Twenty-five seconds after gaining control of the vessel, Crekpaba fell to the aisle floor, killed by a pistol shot to the back of the head from the turian air marshal. The marshal was himself killed by Tempest fire in the next moment, which put Jelloc in charge of an operation that had still not recovered from the death of its leader.

But Jelloc was not Crekpaba. He was scared, uncertain, and tired. His nostrils were filled with the hot sick scent of dextro food, overflowing toilets, and the bodies putrefying up in first class. The ballistic armor he wore dug into his skin and weighed him down as he ran the length of the vessel shouting orders.

In the past fifty-five hours he'd forced the plane to fly from Bostra to Baevia, Macion, Icia, and then back to Bostra. Jelloc had been afraid to keep the aircraft in one place for too long while he waited for his demands to be met. In the meantime, the Hierarchy had stalled resulting in his men first threatening and then killing passengers and crew. He wished Crekpaba were here to tell him what to do, how to keep order among the other five men in the cell.

But Crekpaba was dead in first class and the others looked to Jelloc for direction while they bickered among themselves and beat on passengers in frustration.

' _What do I do? This is taking too long!'_

The batarian's exhausted and stressed mind focused quickly. _'Too long.'_ Yes! Too long they had been on the ground here in Bostra. He felt the government's delays had been trickery, that he'd been played for a fool.

' _Too long.'_

Jelloc stood, stormed into the cockpit, found the flight crew sleeping in their seats, and he screamed at them. "We are leaving Bostra! We are flying somewhere else."

"Where?" The pilot asked wearily.

Jelloc thought a moment. He needed a safe place. Someplace where the aircraft could remain for enough hours for him to get some rest. "Dexilea!"

"Dexilea," The pilot said it as a groan. A statement of frustration.

"Yes!" Jelloc screamed to the pilots. The vehemence in his voice had spurred them to quick action before; he hoped it would continue to do so.

The pilot shrugged. "When?"

"Now! Take off!"

"Listen, you don't understand. We have to go through a preflight checklist and pull our maps for the route we-"

"Either take off now or I kill a passenger!" Jelloc turned to yell into the cabin.

The pilot rubbed his eyes and reached for his case containing maps and charts. "Okay! Okay!" Just give me five minutes to-"

"One minute!" Jelloc yelled, certain of the deceit from the turian. "In one minute we are moving to the spaceport or I kill one passenger for every minute!"

"Three minutes! You've got to give us at least-"

"Two minutes, no more!"

"I need three!"

"Fine you can have three, but I get to kill a passenger." Jelloc turned back to the cabin. "Dorish! Bring me the first child you see!"

"All right! All right! Calm down. Spirits you are impatient. We're moving in two!" Shouted the pilot, before tuning out the terrorist and focusing on his aircraft.

* * *

 **Sidobia**

 **Bostra**

 **Spaceport**

The hazy night sky was cool three thousand feet above and aft of the aircraft, but newly appointed Spectre Saren Arterius blinked, annoyed at the moisture condensing his goggles. Rivulets of the stuff ran down the back of his black, Predator armor as he hung under the taut canopy of his square parachute. He was a _Spectre_ , which meant Armax Arnsenal had designed a custom-specialty for nothing more than a promise to seriously consider endorsement. At the moment, it was perfect for observing the area below, dangling from the atmospheric-drag contraption.

It was his first time leading a team of Spectres into battle. He'd been assessed as ready by both his superiors and his peers, and he felt ready, but still … he was still turian. Still flesh and bone. And this maneuver wasn't without its own risks.

Two more canopies drifted down through the darkness near him. The three chutes were stacked at distance – teammates Vasir and Maerun were strapped together in a tandem rig below and fifty feet ahead of Saren, and Dozz was positioned slightly above and fifty feet behind.

All four Spectres floated with the wind, always angling toward their drop zone, a few hundred feet aft of the hijacked Palatine flight.

Vasir's voice came from her position up front, hanging in front of Maerun. "Saren, it seems that the plane is getting ready to depart. There's no auxiliary power attached, and aft stairs are up too."

"I guess they aren't going to wait around for us to sneak inside," Maerun mumbled into his mic. The big turian always interjected humor when no one was in the mood.

And Saren was not in the mood. "Damn."

Next Dozz came over the radio: "Back to me a bit boss," and Saren immediately realized he had drifted a little too close to the Spectres below him. Calmly he adjusted his toggles to remedy the error.

The plan had been to land and then link up with other Hierarchy forces on the ground and then decide how to proceed. They'd set their drop zone as a spot on the tarmac behind the hijacked aircraft, out of sight from the terminal. Intelligence on site had discovered holo-vid cameras positioned all over the terminal, and no one in the Citadel wanted the cameras to get a shot of a commando team dropping from the sky at 0330 hours.

As he hung twenty-five hundred feet above the ground, Saren eyed the plane, keeping it between his stack and the cameras.

He hoped like hell he and his comrades would get a crack at taking the jet down before this was all over. He reasoned that, if the plane stayed put in Bostra for just a few hours more, there was a decent chance they would get the order from the Citadel Council to hit the target.

But as he was thinking this, below his armored boots red and green indicator lights began blinking on the wingtips of the aircraft. Almost instantly the two helium-3 engines on the aircraft began to roar. Seconds later the nose of the craft turned slightly to the left, centering on the long runaway that ran off to the west.

The plane began to move forward as the engines pitched higher.

Saren groaned in frustration. "You've got to be kidding."

"Damn, the bitch is rolling." Vasir shouted into her radio.

"Repositioning on the tarmac or heading to the runway?" Dozz asked from the back. He could not see past Saren's chute. "Bet they're flying out of here. They've been doing a lot of erratic shit like that."

"Suggestions?" Saren asked quickly into his mic. He knew to get the input of his subordinates at a critical moment like this.

"There isn't much sense in linking up with officials if the hijacked plane isn't gonna hang around," Maerun said.

And then Dozz chimed in, "Saren, you have Execute Authority. Why don't we hit it?"

It was true; Saren had authorization from the Council, the head of the Spectres. This allowed Saren, as the military commander at the scene, the flexibility to call for a hasty _in-extremis_ takedown of the aircraft if he saw the opportunity to do so or if he felt the necessity to try, like if the terrorists, or "crows" in Spectre parlance, started shooting hostages before the official approval for the Spectre's mission came from the Council.

Still, Saren wasn't sure what Dozz was getting at. He keyed his mic. " _Hit_ it? While it's moving?"

"We can land on the roof and head for the cockpit. I've got the harpoon. If we go in single file we can breach the escape hatch. If we increase our descent speed we can be inside before they go throttle-up."

"Have any of you guys done that before?" Saren asked incredulously.

"Not on a _moving_ aircraft, and only in training back at Palaven," Maerun answered. But he seemed to agree with his fellow teammate's assessment. "We aren't going to get another chance at this. If the plane isn't there, then the holo-projector crews might see us, and if they film us dropping on the tarmac that will get back to the crows in the plane. Might just piss them off enough to kill some more passengers."

"Now or never," Dozz said. "What's the call, Saren?"

Now Vasir chimed in. Though she was the oldest of the team and perhaps the most fit overall. "No sweat, we've got this." She sounded confident and eager.

Saren's operational brain trust had spoken and their vote was unanimous. Still, this was his first hit since entering the unit just two months prior, and the Council had made it crystal clear to Saren that he needed to change his ways. There was no room in the Spectres for wild antics that had gotten him in hot water in the past, and the Council had reminded Saren numerous times that he was on incredibly thin ice. Nevertheless, Saren and his boys had been the alert squadron readily available when this hostage crisis unfolded, so Saren and his team had been called to action.

' _Make your decision, Saren!'_ He thought to himself in a silent shout.

Three seconds later he pressed the push to talk button on his chest rig again, "Let's hit it."

' _The Council is going to have my ass for this,'_ he thought, but right now he had _much_ bigger fish to fry. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Oceans on Palaven were few and clustered together.

* * *

 **Adeilia**

 **Bostra**

 **FOB Tukon**

In the Joint Operations Center, the chow hall, the gym, and the holo-vid tent stood empty. Right now everyone with access was stacked at the back of JOC watching the shocking footage displayed on a single large holo screen at the front of the room. A Hasta drone's night vision camera caught the huge commercial aircraft moving slowly through the darkness toward the runway, and its satellite uplink broadcast the ghostly images to their screen.

Saren and his team were not in the picture, they were still high in the air on their descent, and their drop zone was out of the camera's current field of view.

The Hierarchy forces at the airfield in Bostra were on the other end of a _Thur_ sat phone; their running commentary piped through the speakers of the JOC. The Hierarchy's main liaison officer stood near Colonel Talia Cangatus, holding a phone to her ear and passing on additional information to the Council.

The tension in the air infected everyone. All were frozen in amazement at the huge holo-screen monitor, referred to in the JOC as 'Kill Vid.'

Men and women stood in rapt attention as the hijacked aircraft rolled steadily down the taxiway, clearly advancing for takeoff on Runway 30. A few seconds later the Hasta downlink went fuzzy. The 'eye' in the sky had blinked. It was a mechanical glitch seemingly reserved for the _Hasta_ brand, occurring at exactly those moments when clear observation was most desperately needed.

The Kill Vid feed came back up a moment later, just as the silhouetted figures of four operatives under three parachutes passed between the aircraft and the camera's lens. Black figures flying through the air flared on the mini-screen,the heat off their bodies trapped in the chutes above them, creating a faint umbrella shape.

"Spirits. There they are!" Exclaimed the operations sergeant major, breaking the silence that had fallen over the JOC. They should have been landing far back on the tarmac, but it looked as if the Spectre team were making for the runway itself. "What the hell are they doing?"

The three chutes sailed purposefully toward the plane on the ground, which meant only one thing to Colonel Cangatus. The men were not continuing on to the drop zone on the now-empty tarmac.

No. It looked like …

Cangatus cocked her head slightly. "Saren is attacking." She said it in a clipped voice that indicated to everyone in the room that she was furious.

No one in the JOC was new to special operations, but many still gasped. Assaulting an aircraft as it sat at the end of the runway, seconds from take off?

Colonel Cangatus sat back in her chair. She was pissed, but she was not surprised. Saren fucking Arterius, her man on the scene, had been a pseudo-insubordinate troop commander before he'd been inducted into the Spectres two months ago. Now that he was the operational commander of the mission, there was little reason to expect anything but pseudo-insubordination now, even with all of her 'personal counseling' of how she wanted the operation to go.

She stared silently at the downlink screen. Cangatus would have stopped Saren if she had any control over the situation. But the Spectres audacious and daring actions effectively neutered any long-arm leadership or micromanagement since JOC was 220 miles away from the action.

Colonel Cangatus cleared her throat and in a confident and booming voice said, "All right, we have seemed to have a common operation with Spectres on target. Push the QRF to the airspace and air-loiter twenty minutes out, spin up the extraction fixed-wing aircraft ASAP, and get me the general on the red line."

Immediately several of the staff in the JOC went from statues to blurs of activity – the Quick Reaction Force gunships were ordered into the theater, the extraction aircraft were ordered ready and secure comms with the general were established.

Cangatus' confident orders, turned to just the right authoritative tenor by decades of command sounded confident and certain, but that was just for public consumption. Silently to herself the colonel breathed softly, "Spirits, Arteruis, you'd better not fuck this up."

* * *

 **Sidobia**

 **Bostra**

 **Spaceport**

Even though they had not expected to drop right into combat, the four Spectres were geared up for battle, even six hundred feet above the aircraft. As this was an _in-extremis_ operation, they only had time to bring in the best gear they could amass on the fly. All four Spectres wore standard Ablative helmets of their respective species with infrared strobes activated and binging on top. Under the helmet, all wore dark brown Peltor ear protection and radio headsets. The team would be going in light protection-wise; three wore just light armor, which would stop a frontal pistol or rifle rounds in case their kinetic barriers fell. Only Saren chose to wear an entire combat hard suit, years in the turian military having made a habit of constantly wearing one.

Each Spectre carried weapons that suited their preference. Saren and Maerun each carried a Phaeston assault rifle, the workhorse of the turian military, and Phentis pistols attached to their chests. In the tight aisles of the commercial aircraft, the chest holsters allowed for faster draw of the heavy pistols than a hip holster. Dozz carried a Scorpion pistol and Bane submachine gun, as usual packing light like most salarians. Vasir chose to carry a Disciple shotgun and Bishop submachine gun for close quarters. Extra heat sinks were secured in their chest magnetic locks, which also held their MBITR MX radios in nylon side pouches. The radios were wired to their Peltor headsets so that they could communicate during the assault.

All four Spectres were dressed in black armor with the Spectre insignia, subdued in gray and black in color, on the left shoulder. They had exited the HS-3 Stormer (S) transport shuttle at twenty thousand feet wearing oxygen masks with a hose attached to a bailout bottle inside a pouch on the right hip. Once they had descended below ten thousand feet they disconnected their masks and let them hang on the side.

All wore thermal under suits and black balaclavas under their helmets to maintain body heat during the descent. Strapped to their hands were digital altimeters. Each Spectre also carried a pair of nine flash bang grenades and a personal first aid pouch with one-hand tourniquet rigs.

At four hundred feet above the target Maerun, with Vasir riding in the front of his rig, maneuvered to line up his approach angle to the rear of the aircraft, which was now turning off the taxiway and onto the runway. All Saren and Dozz had to do was follow the red and green chemlites of their teammates packtray while maintaining a safe distance. Saren, the least experienced jumper of the bunch, struggled to keep in formation with the other two chutes.

"Our spot is the long axis of the fuselage. We'll harpoon the escape hatch above the cockpit, depressurize the plane, and enter. We are going to have to this fast and dirty before they take off. Once inside, haul ass and make friends in the rear. Remember they are a hundred forty souls on board, plus at least six crows," Saren said.

"One four zero souls, six assholes, roger," Said Dozz.

"One-forty poor SOBs. Six targets. Got it," replied Vasir.

"One-four-zero live. Six die. Then breakfast. Roger," Maerun said, interjecting his nonchalance into the tension.

"Boss, I have the harpoon," Dozz reminded his team leader.

To this Saren replied, "Pull around to my left and take the shot."

"Roger that." Dozz said, and seconds later he glided past his team-leader, and then past the tandem team in front. He corrected back to the right and moved to the head of the line. Now it was Dozz's job to lead the others. He had red and green chemlites on the back of his pack as well, and the Spectres behind him kept their eyes locked firmly on those lights as they neared the target.

Saren struggled to keep his place in the stack as they neared the landing, but he managed to touch down on the slick aircraft roof just a few steps behind the others. He, Maerun, and Dozz pulled their harness release pins and the three parachutes floated off the right side of the plane, just clearing the thruster's edge before catching the engine's backwash and twisting into the darkness.

All four Spectres were prone on top of the aircraft now, and they fought to stay atop the slick and sloping surface, knowing they needed to get off the roof and inside the plane before the pilot applied takeoff thrust and jetted down the runway. Dozz and Saren hugged the skin of the aircraft, something akin to balancing on a giant ball, while Maerun, still attached and lying on top of Vasir, pulled the tandem chute's quick release to disconnect himself from his mate.

Inside the cockpit, the two-man turian flight crew had no idea that four Spectre operatives were crawling toward the cockpit along the aircraft's fuselage. Both the pilot and copilot sat strapped to their seats with their headsets on, and they concentrated on the rushed take-off sequence, manipulating the appropriate controls.

The leader of the terrorists, the jittery batarian with the combat vest, who called himself Jelloc, leaned into the cockpit. "One minute we are in the air or the boy dies!"

The copilot held out a placating hand to the armed gunman, then turned to the captain. "We ready to go?"

"I have no idea," the pilot replied as he turned to the runway in front of him. "But we're outta here before they shoot that kid."

He reached for the throttle, and the copilot did the same.

The four Spectres moved forward in single file on top of the plane. Only two handholds jutted from the plane's surface, and with a single gloved hand each, Maerun and Saren tested every bit of tensile strength of an antenna blade the shape of a shark's fin while Vasir held on to a strange looking nozzle protruding up about five inches and set back seven feet from the escape hatch. The other hand was locked in a death grip around Dozz's right ankle.

Dozz, at the head of the line, could feel the vicelike grip around his ankle as one of his mates held on tight. He assumed the others were doing the same to the men in front of them.

Without warning, the heavy whine of the engines behind him grew to a roar, pushing the aircraft forward with a jolt that made all four Spectres press their armored hands tight against the roof for purchase.

"She is taking off!" Dozz tried to yell above the engine noise, but none of his teammate's heard. At first the four Spectres struggled to stay glued to the aircraft body as the plane's thrust increased and it rolled forward into the darkness down the runway. But quickly they began crawling forward again, as fast as they could on the slick surface.

Because the plane had been refueled earlier at the terrorists' demands, Saren and his men knew the take-off speed for the plane would be somewhere in the neighborhood of 290 km/h. It was already at tenth of that and Saren couldn't key his radio mic for fear of falling off the aircraft. He yelled to Dozz in front of the short line of operators. "Breach it!"

Now the entire team's survival depended on Dozz. He had less than forty seconds to get the job done, or they would find themselves flying on the outside of the plane until they were whipped off to their deaths by the incredible wind.

All commercial planes were equipped with an emergency hatch above the cockpit. Formally referenced in the technical maintenance manuals as the Crew Compartment Overhead Hatch, the little door in the roof provides an emergency egress pathway for the plane's crew. It is not considered an entrance point and was never intended to provide access to anyone on the outside.

But the Spectres did not care with the aircraft designer's intentions were. _Their_ intentions were what mattered now.

As the jet reached twenty percent ground speed, Dozz leaned on his left side and reached into his chest rig to draw the harpoon device. He pulled it free, pressed the activation button with his right thumb, and lined it up two feet away at the center mass of the escape hatch. Given the distance, he couldn't miss.

Developed by a shrewd Salarian combat-engineer, the harpoon was a simple CO2 cartridge and a hollow tube the size of a large pickle that provided an efficient, if short-range, method to depressurize an aircraft before an explosive breach through the doors. Its presence was crucial, in the event that the hijackers had booby trapped the plane's doors before the assault force arrived.

This time, though, the assault force consisted of just four operatives and there would be no explosive breaching of the side doors. Moreover, as cunning and conniving as the Spectre operators were, no had had ever envisioned harpooning the escape hatch during takeoff.

Aircraft, as a general rule, do not take off after an assault has begun. As the ground speed of the plane passed fifty percent of the needed velocity, Dozz pulled the trigger and the harpoon pierced the shiny metal, immediately initiating a slow depressurization of the cabin below. Dozz then tossed the firing mechanism over the edge of the speeding aircraft to get it out of the way.

With his left hand on the throttle, the copilot heard a loud noise through the muffling capacitors of his headset, and saw the sharp black edge of a large dart protruding through the middle of the escape hatch, above and centered just behind the command chairs. "What the …"

The lead terrorist burst back into the cockpit, snapping him out of his momentary paralysis.

Behind the menacing Tempest submachine gun, the batarian's dark skin tone stood in contrast to his loose white shirt buttoned over his body armor.

"V-one," the pilot announced clamly. Procedure dictated verbal notification at each stage, especially when takeoff velocity had been achieved. The pilot ignored everything around him and concentrated on the runway ahead; at V-one, even engine failure would fail to deter takeoff.

"What was that noise?" Jelloc asked.

The copilot did not answer. Another thud on the roof diverted the terrorist's eyes up to the escape hatch.

On the roof of the speeding jet, Dozz's job was only half finished. He needed to get the hatch open. With the aeronautic vehicle now at a ground speed of ninety percent, he frantically dug into his chest rig and pulled out a six-inch explosive charge from a pouch. He peeled away the thin film covering the sticky tape with his teeth, and he slapped it on the hatch-locking mechanism. Quickly he turned his head away and detonated the charge.

The explosion punctured the escape hatch and filled the cockpit with a misty gray haze. Jelloc had been staring at the hatch, so he was temporarily blinded by the flash. He screamed and raised his weapon with one hand and fired blindly into the cockpit while rubbing his eyes with the other hand. One of his rounds found a home in the left shoulder of the pilot, spinning him in his seat, but remained upright in his safety harness.

Jelloc raised his Tempest toward the roof now and let loose another burst. The rounds ripped through the padded insulation and punctured the thin metal skin of the aircraft. Unsure of what was coming next and opting for the protection of his comrades, the batarian turned and fled the cockpit.

Dozz felt a sting on his left hand as he gripped the hatch edge and pulled himself forward. An incredible burning on the secondary finger that felt as if the hatch had been slammed shut on it. But he remained in control of his entire team's destiny, so he ignored the pain and struggled against the wind resistance and the forward thrust of the aircraft as he felt the jet's nose attitude increase.

Without taking time to look inside, he reached through the opening and tossed a nine-banger behind the crewseats. Almost instantly a succession of incredibly bright, deafening explosions rocked the cockpit. A smaller device would give only a half-dozen explosions, but the ninebanger bordered on being a fragmentation grenade.

Disorienting the flight crew during takeoff was an unfortunate, but necessary component of breaching a cockpit held by terrorists. Dozz just had to hope like hell the men flying the plane could overcome the effects of the blast and get the jet in the air without veering off to the left or right or running out of the runway.

Dozz pulled himself face-first into the small hole right behind the last of the explosions, completely unaware that a sand-grain caliber round from the terrorist's gun had severed his secondary finger.

He tumbled six feet to the floor, landing half on the copilot and half on the main console. It hurt like hell, but he was relieved to be inside.

The wounded and disoriented pilot had handed off responsibilities to his copilot; somehow the copilot managed to remain composed. He kept the aircraft straight on the runway, even though the flash-bang had all but blinded him. He had to get the plane airborne; there was no way he could back off the throttle and reject the takeoff at this point, there was not enough runway to prevent the fuel-laden aircraft from exploding in a fireball at the far edge of the grounds. He guided his huge plane into the air with steady talons that belied the chaos going on around him.

Scrambling to follow Dozz into the aircraft, Vasir slid in headfirst with the same bit of pathetic acrobatics as her teammate.

Maerun tumbled in behind them while Vasir and Dozz didn't wait around for introductions. The two Spectres gained their footing and exited the crew compartment door, weapons out in front of them. The steep angle of the takeoff roll required them to move through the cabin as if they were running down a hill. Maerun stayed where he was and reached up to help Saren into the plane.

The aircraft's rear supports left the runway, letting it rise at a ten-degree pitch and over two hundred kilometers an hour. Saren held on to the edge of the hatch for dear life, now pulling himself forward with all of his might against the roaring air current. The action of entering the cockpit had the unfortunate side effect of allowing the jagged aircraft skin to catch the cord running between his Peltor ear protection to the radio, yanking the ear protection as well as his helmet into the howling gale. So Saren found himself without any type of cranial protection.

Saren landed to the rear of the center console next to Maerun, vaulted to his feet, and then leaned back down between the flight crew. He yelled to be heard over the roar of wind and engine noise from the hatch above. "Lock the door behind us! Fly a runway heading! No banking! Level off as fast as you can!"

Even though the nine-banger's effects had made hearing the black-clad commando nearby nearly impossible, the turian flight crew got the idea.

Saren brought his Phaeston up as he raced out of the cockpit doorway behind Maerun. The pilot, though injured with a small ragged hole in his shoulder, unbuckled his harness and forced the door shut into locked positioned. He then did his best to jam the escape hatch above back into place before reaching for the first aid kit.

The four Spectres had studied the aircraft in great detail en route to the scene, memorizing every inch and feature. This wide body had two aisles in first class with a single row of large seats running down the center. The rows then continued past the forward galley, all the way back through the first coach cabin, to a central exit alley with lavatories. The two aisles then continued on through the rear coach cabin to the galley and lavs at the rear of the plane.

Vasir and Dozz raced down the right aisle of first class, clearing it as they ran forward. Saren and Maerun followed just behind and on the left. The four Spectres passed the several dead bodies stowed in first class, then rushed through the forward lavatories and galley, charging down the steep aisles on both sides of coach.

By the time Saren made it into the coach cabin, terror had struck the passengers like a tidal wave. Wild animal-like screams and shrieks pierced his ears. The Spectres knew all about panic and what to expect from innocent civilians on board a hijacked aircraft. The civilians, though terrorized and frantic, retained enough survival instincts to keep their heads down during the interdiction. Saren and his team knew that anyone brave enough to look up over the seat, for the first couple of seconds anyway, was very likely one of the bad guys. Indentifying them proved to be easier given that the hijackers were entirely a different species than the turian civilians.

All four Spectres promoted the natural tendency of the innocents to stay out of the line of fire with angry shouts: "Get down! Get down! Get down!"

Maerun sprinted down the left aisle in the forward coach cabin. He noticed a dark brown hand with a black Tempest submachine gun just above a headrest and took aim. He raised his Phaeston rifle to eye level, placed the red dot of his optics an inch above the headrest, slipped his finger onto the taut trigger, and dropped the hammer twice on two subsonic sand-grain rounds.

It was all muscle memory and he completed the action in under two seconds. Both hot tungsten rounds tore through the headrest just low of his aiming point, and entered the armed batarian's chest. The submachine gun fell to the cabin floor next to another body.

"One crow down," Maerun said into his mic. The Spectres kept moving.

Dozz had unquestionably, the worst job of the team. He was the runner. Armed only with a pistol in his right hand and a second pistol strapped to his chest, he raced down the right aisle, scanning intently, trying to separate normal sights from threat indicators. But his job as the runner was not to engage all the hijackers himself. No, his rush aft was designed to draw out the enemy. The three Spectres behind him knew to scan ahead to ID terrorists gunning for Dozz, the man spearing heading their assault.

By now Dozz knew he'd lost a finger to enemy fire. His bloody left hand stung even through the painkilling effects adrenaline gave, but the appendage continued to function, so he ignored the pain and continued.

Suddenly his forward momentum stopped as he ran smack-dab into a punishing burst of mass effect rounds. He hadn't even seen the shooter.

The bullets slammed squarely into the center of his chest plate armor. The impact stood him straight up, locking his knees momentarily before his instincts forced him to the deck.

The shooter then stood up, clearly thinking he would get a better angle on the Salarian commando. Vasir, in overwatch of Dozz's movement, placed her submachine gun sights above the terrorist's red headband and squeezed off two rapid rounds. Both found their mark, blowing blood, brains, and bone straight up and onto the overhead compartment. The enemy dropped back into his seat like a bag of wet cement as those around him screamed.

"Two down," Vasir announced.

Dozz regained his footing and continued down the aisle with his handgun. He moved so fast he almost missed one of the terrorists sitting on his right, but the batarian made it easy as he identified himself.

"Kill these Spectres!" he screamed, rising with a Tempest in his right hand and a young female passenger held close to him with his left. Dozz spun toward the noise and squeezed a mass accelerator round almost instantly. The batarian's head snapped back, the Tempest falling and the woman wrestled out of the dead terrorist's death grip and into the arms of her husband in the next seat over.

"Three crows down." Dozz kept moving.

Just then, on the left side of the plane, a dark-skinned batarian stood quickly in a window seat, shouting something incomprehensible. Both of his hands were thrust into the air as he stood and tried to get out into the aisle, shoving past those in the seats next to him. Saren's Phentis lined up on the man's forehead, and Saren's finger took up the slack of the pistol's trigger safety as he prepared to shoot the batarian dead. He loose three rapid rounds of hot tungsten.

Unfortunately, the round penetrated through the batarian and hit a turian behind him. The turian's hands were empty. He was a 'squirter,' a civilian panicked by the assault and trying to make a hopeless run for it.

Saren reached across the two passengers and shoved a panicked passenger back into his seat. "Get down!"

Maerun, moving down the left aisle facing aft, was a few yards ahead of Saren. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a batarian lean out from the center exit aisle of the plane with a weapon in his hand. Saren was dealing with the panicked passenger, and Dozz and Vasir could not see the batarian from their position on the right side.

The terrorist ducked quickly back into the galley before Maerun could fire. He shouted into his mic as he kept his eyes focused on the corner. "Crow in the center galley!" He continued moving aft, hunting for terrorists indicators.

Without his Peltors, Saren didn't hear the call on the net, but did not matter. He'd caught a fleeting glimpse of the batarian as he ducked around the corner. When Maerun was held up for a moment with another squirter in the center cabin, Saren leapfrogged his mate and made it to the galley, his eyes locked on the folding metal door of the lav. The terrorist would be inside; there was no indication that he'd retreated into the rear coach cabin.

Saren did not hesitate. He sidestepped left into the galley area to clear the rest of the space, and here he inadvertently stomped down on a male steward's left penny loafer. Saren looked at the young man cowering in a ball on the floor of the galley and made brief eye contact.

The kid smelled like he had soiled his pants and his body shook uncontrollably. Saren reached down with his non-firing hand grabbed and grabbed the collar of the kid's blazer. On the other side of the steward was the door to the lavatory concealing the batarian terrorist.

"Need your space," Saren said. "Move toward the cockpit ." But the young man remained still. Saren growled once and yanked the kid by his collar, lifting him up, trying to force the steward out of his way. Patience was a virtue, but not in this situation.

"Don't move me!" The kid finally shouted in a panicked falsetto.

Saren shouted, "Get your ass out of the– " Dragging the kid all the way to his feet, Saren finally saw it. A shine and movement of a wire attached to a drawer in the side of the cupboard. It was a presence that did not belong. The wire ended in a noose around the steward's neck and was clearly visible now, though Saren had not checked for it an instant earlier.

As Saren pushed the steward out of the galley, the kid's movement pulled the wire, which opened the drawer, which then fell to the floor. From the plastic drawer a small cylinder rolled across the galley.

This, Saren recognized instantly. "Grenade!" He screamed at the top of his lungs.

The steward was clear; he had stumbled into the forward coach cabin and slammed straight into Maerun, knocking the turian Spectre back onto a passenger in his seat.

Saren heard the lavatory door open. His senses in overdrive, he whipped his head a few degrees to the right before picking up the blur of a weapon's muzzle. Saren was going to take a hit from the grenade on the floor behind him; there was no way to avoid that. In that flash of an instant he told himself he would 'eat' the grenade if he had to, but he was damn well not going to let some asshole batarian terrorist shithead shoot him..

Saren opened his mouth to absorb the overpressure of the impending explosion, and he dropped to a prone position to get below the bulk of the grenade's shrapnel. While doing this, he opened fire on the lavatory door, blasting four mass accelerator rounds chest-high as he hit the deck, hoping like hell that most of the blast would go over him.

Between gunshots he heard shouts from both Vasir and Dozz, plaintive cries for a passenger to "get the fuck down!"

An old woman appeared suddenly in the galley from the rear cabin; her hand was over her mouth and she was vomiting, desperately trying to make it to the bathroom to avoid embarrassment. Instead, she stumbled around the corner, saw Saren on the floor facing her and firing into the lavatory.

She did not see the grenade on the floor behind him, but it would not have mattered if she had. Saren started to shout to her, but was enveloped by white light and violet noise and indescribable pain.

* * *

 **Rotas**

 **Oma Ker**

 **Helium–3 Refinery**

They moved swiftly, silently, with purpose, under a crystalline, star filled night in Oma Ker. They were batarians, though one could hardly know from their speech, which was surprisingly a dialect of turian. The three batarians had just completed a complex task in the trucks and train yards, the opening of hundreds of loading valves. Ibra Tolk was their leader, though he was not in front. Ras held that honor, the massive former Hegemony soldier who had already killed six men this cold night – three with a pistol hidden under his coat and three with his hands alone. No one had heard him. A Helium–3 refinery was a noisy place. The bodies were left in the shadows, and three batarians entered Tolk's car for the next part of the task.

Central Control was a modern three-story building fittingly in the center of the complex. Hardware stretched in all direction for at least five kilometers. Fracking towers, storage tanks, catalytic chambers, and above all the thousands of kilometers of large-diameter pipes which made Rotas one of the system's largest refining complexes. The sky was lit at uneven intervals by waste gas fires, and the air was foul with the stink of Helium-3 distillates.

They approached the steel-walled, windowless building in Tolk's personal vehicle, pulling into the engineer's reserved parking place. His comrades crouched in the back seat, remaining hidden.

Inside the glass door, Tolk greeted the security guard, who smiled back, his hand outstretched for Tolk's security pass. The need for security here was quite real, but since the last incident dated back over fifty years, no one took it more seriously than any of the bureaucratic complexities in the Hierarchy. Despite that the guard, like all turians, was rigid and alert. Tolk pretended to fumbled handing over his pass, and the guard lurched down to retrieve it. He never came back up. Tolk's pistol was the last thing the turian felt, a cold circle at the base of his skull, and he died without knowing why – or even how. Tolk went behind the guard's desk to get the weapon the guard had been only too happy to display for the engineers he protected. He lifted the body and moved it awkwardly to leave it slumped at the desk – then waved his comrades into the building. Ras and Moha raced to the door.

"It is time, my friends." Tolk handed the Phaeston rifle and heat sinks to his taller friend. Ras hefted the weapon briefly, checking to see that a heat sink was inserted and clicked the safety off. Then he slung the heat sink belt over his shoulder and snapped the omni-blade back into place before speaking for the first time in the night.

"Paradise awaits."

Tolk composed himself, smoothed his skin, straightened his tie, and clipped the security pass to his white laboratory coat before leading his comrades up the six flights of stairs.

Ordinary procedure dictated that to enter the master control room, one first had to be recognized by one of the operations staffers. And to it happened. Calius Domitisis seemed surprised when he saw Tolk through the door's tiny window.

"You're not on duty tonight, Tolk."

"One of my valves went bad this afternoon and I forgot to check the repair status before I went off duty. You know the one – the auxiliary feed valve on Discharge Number eight. If it is still down tomorrow we'll have to reroute, and you know what that means."

Domitisis grunted in agreement, "True enough, Tolk." The middle-aged engineer seemed under the impression that the diminutive name was appreciated by the batarian. He was badly mistaken. "Stand back while I open this damn hatch."

The heavy steel door swung outward. Domitisis hadn't been able to see Ras and Moha before and scarcely had time now. Three mass accelerator rounds from the Phaeston exploded into his chest.

The master control room contained a duty watch crew of twenty, and looked much like the control center for a power plant. The high walls were crosshatched with pipeline schematics, dotted with hundreds of lights to indicate which control valve was doing what. That was only the main display. Individual segments of the system were broken off onto separate status boards, mainly controlled by computer but constantly monitored by half the duty engineers. The staff could not fail to note the sound of the three shots. But none were armed.

With elegant patience, Ras began to work his way across the room, using his Phaeston expertly and firing one round into each watch engineer. At first they tried to run away – until they realized that Ras was herding them into a corner like cattle, killing as he moved. Two turians bravely got on their command links to summon a fast-response team of Hierarchy security troops.

Ras shot one of them at his post, but the other ducked around the line of command consoles to evade the gunfire and bolted for the door, where Tolk stood. It was Celtius, Tolk saw, the plant's favorite, head of the local engineers, the man who had 'befriended' him, making him the special pet native of the Turian engineers. Tolk could remember every time this inferior being had patronized him, the savage foreigner imported to amuse his Turian masters. Tolk raised his pistol.

"Tolk!" The turian screamed in terror and shock. Tolk shot him in the mouth, and hoped Celtius didn't die too quickly to her the contempt in his voice: "Infidel."

He was pleased Ras had not killed this one. His quiet friend could have all the rest. The other engineers screamed, threw cups, chairs, manuals. There was nowhere left to run, no way around the swarthy, towering killer. Some had held up their hands in useless supplication. Some even prayed aloud. The noise diminished as Ras strode up to the bloody corner. He smiled as he shot the very last. He ejected a heat sink from the rifle, and then went back through the control room. He prodded each body with his bayonet, and again shot the four that showed some small sign of life. His face bore a grim, content expression. At least twenty-five inferior pigs dead.

The third man, Moha was already at his own work as Ras took his station at the top of the staircase. Working in the back of the room, he switched the room systems-control mode from computer-automatic to emergency-manual, by passing all of the automated safety systems.

A methodical man, Tolk had planned and memorized every detail of his task over a period of months, but he still had a checklist in his pocket. He unfolded it now and set it next to him on the master supervisory control board. Tolk looked around at the status displays to orient himself, he paused.

From his back pocket he took his most treasured personal possession, half of his grandfather's Pillars of Strength, and opened it to a random page. It was a passage in the Chapter of Spoils. His grandfather had been killed during the futile rebellions against Palaven, his father shamed by helpless subservience to the infidel state; Tolk had been seduced by turian schoolteachers into joining their inferior system. Others had trained him as a Helium-3 field engineer to work on the colony's most valuable facility. Only then had the Pillars of his fathers saved him, through the words of an uncle who had remained faithful to the Hegemony and safeguarded this tattered fragment of the Pillars of Strength that had accompanied one of the Hegemony's own warriors.

Tolk read the passage under his hand: _"And when the misbelievers plotted to keep three prisoners, or kill three, or drive three forth, they plotted well; but the Pillars watched. And where the misbelievers held their souls in security without support, they were crushed under their own weight."_

Tolk smiled, certain that it was the final sign in a plan being executed by hands greater than his own. Serene and confident, he began to fulfill his destiny.

First the hydrogen. He closed sixteen control valves – the nearest of them three kilometers away – and opened ten, which rerouted eighty million liters of hydrogen to gush out from a bank of truck-loading valves. The hydrogen liquid did not ignite at once. The three had left no pyrotechnic devices to explode the first of many disasters. Tolk reasoned that if he were truly doing the work of the Pillars, then the structure would surely provide.

And so They did. A small truck driving through the loading yard took a turn too fast, skidded on the splashing fuel, and slid broad-side into a utility pole. It took only one spark … and already more fuel was spilling out into the train yards.

With the master pipeline switches, Tolk had a special plan. He rapidly typed in a computer command, thanking his ancestors that Ras was so skillful and had not damaged anything important. The main pipeline from the nearby production field was two meters across, with many branch lines running to all of the production wells. The hydrogen traveling in those pipes had its own mass and its own momentum supplied by pumping stations in the fields. Tolk's commands rapidly opened and closed valves.

The pipeline ruptured in a dozen places, and the computer commands left the pumps on. Escaping liquid flowed across the production field, where only one more spark was needed to spread an inferno before the winter wind, and another break occurred where the hydrogen and helium pipelines crossed together over a nearby river.

"The greenskins are here!" Ras shouted a moment before the quick-response team of Hierarchy security guards stormed up the staircase. A short burst from the Phaeston killed the first two, and the rest of the squad stopped cold behind a turn in the staircase as their young sergeant wondered what the hell they had walked into.

Already, automatic alarms were erupting around him in the control room. The master status board showed four growing fires whose borders were defined by blinking red lights. Tolk walked to the master computer and ripped out the tape stool that contained the digital control codes. The spares were in the vault downstairs, and only the turians within ten kilometers who knew its combination were in this room – dead. Moha was busily ripping out every comm link in the room. The whole building shook with the explosion of a hydrogen storage tank two kilometers away.

The crashing sound of a hand grenade announced another move by the Hierarchy troops. Ras returned fire, and the screams of dying turians nearly equaled the earsplitting fire-alarm klaxons. Tolk hurried over to the corner. The floor there was slick with blood. He opened the door to the electrical fusebox, flipped the main circuit breaker, and then fired his pistol into the box. Whoever tried to set things right would also have to work in the dark.

He was done. Tolk saw that his massive friend had been mortally hit in the chest by grenade fragments. He was wobbling, struggling to stay erect at the door, guarding his comrades to the last.

"I take refuge in the Pillars," Tolk called out defiantly to the security troops, who spoke not a word of batarian. "The Guidance of Kings, the Support of men from the evil of the whispering devils–"

The turian sergeant leaped around the lower landing and his first burst tore the rifle from Ras bloodless hands. Two hand grenades arched through the air as the sergeant disappeared back around the corner.

There was no place – and no reason – to run. Moha and Tolk stood immobile in the doorway as the grenades bounced and skittered across the tiled floor. Around them the whole world seemed to be catching fire, and because of them the whole colony really would.

"For the Hegemony!"

 **Trivia:**

1\. This is the first chapter that I forgot to add trivia to, due to my excitement of finishing and publishing this chapter.

2\. This is the first chapter I've completed since being out of the hospital.

3\. This is the first chapter to be published prior to having the arch already finished as explained in the A/N notes.

4\. Saren's POV was inspired by a real life event where French Special Forces had to land on a moving plane in mid-air and retake it from terrorists.

5\. General Han featured in the beginning was the same one whose force was destroyed in Guardians of Freedom and is referenced in being captured in High Speed, Low Drag.

6\. Oma Ker is an actual canon turian colony that has vital infrastructure that is captured by Reaper forces and is referenced in ME3.


	25. Chapter 25 - A New Journey Begins

2-26-2157 1165 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **Sidobia**

 **Bostra**

 **Medical Hospital, Turian Space**

Saren Arterius fought through the pain and stared at the light mounted on the ceiling. It blinded him, but demanded his attention in a way he could not refuse. He'd lost clarity; the ability to discern the difference between reality and fantasy. For all he knew this was the afterlife, with the spirits of his ancestors shining down and not even know it.

The light flipped off. His nicating membranes worked swiftly to restore vision, revealing a group standing behind what was once the light. They wore white coats lined with various instruments, masked with semi-rigid cloths. One of them moved forwards, helping him to rise. "You are very fortunate Mr. Arterius."

Saren looked around and noticed he was sitting on a hospital bed. There was no aircraft, nothing indicating movement over Sidobia; now he appeared to be merely on the ground. A good thing; turians had never been known for independent flight.

"Well I certainly don't feel lucky," Saren answered, stretching his sore limbs. The bottom of his feet still burned from the grenade blast, almost as if someone had set them ablaze and left fire still going.

One of the turians, age-streaks coloring his mandibles a tint of gray he'd rarely seen, snorted. A clipboard rose in his hands, data scrolling across the screen. "You are very lucky young one because I say so. It took hours to get you back into shape. You're missing two layers of skin on your feet, severe combined lacerations and contusions in three points on your back, abraded dermal layers on twenty percent of your body … and let's not even start with the shrapnel."

"That … hurts." Saren lowered his head. The older doctor had to be in the last decade of health; the surreptitious cane he leaned upon gave proof to that.

"That is only natural. We managed to take out the majority of what was embedded in you, but a few pieces still remain. We are scheduled to remove them tomorrow."

"Why not just do it now?" Saren asked.

Before the old one could answer his question, a figure entered the room accompanied by two body guards. The hospital staff quietly made an exit, leaving him alone with the newcomer.

Councilor Sparatus, arguably the second most powerful turian in the Hierarchy next to Primarch Fedorian, strode to the side of Saren's bed with effortless grace. Predatory eyes examined every inch in moments, lingering over the blue-stained wraps binding the worst injuries. "Good to see you didn't die."

"Nice to see you too Councilor." Saren couldn't hold back the sarcastic remark. He knew well enough to expect nothing else from the Councilor; and pettiness did not belong with the Hierarchy, more so for Spectres. But that didn't mean he would make it easy for the Councilor.

Sparatus looked Saren in the eye. "There has been an incident in one of our colonies since you've been out."

This was a surprise. Saren composed himself, "What incident, sir?"

"There was a terrorist attack on a colonial Helium-3 refinery. Three batarians managed to sneak in, killed a few guards and engineers, and then sabotaged the whole plant. Needless to say it's a huge mess."

Saren blinked, astonished. "Sir? You did say three batarians, did you not?"

The Councilor understood the meaning behind the question. "It was an inside job. One of the engineers was a batarian and he seems to have assisted the sabotage, if not mastermind it."

Information clicked through Saren's mind, contingencies, and likely actions taken by the Council. "How is the Hierarchy reacting?"

"Currently the Primarchs are debating on a course of action," Sparatus replied.

"But if –,"

Sparatus held up a single talon, stopping him mid-sentence. "I know what you are going to say. Trust me I feel the same – but we walk on unsteady ground. As of now all investigations into the incident indicate that the saboteurs acted on their own, meaning there is no link to the Hegemony."

"Then why are you here? There has to be a reason!"

The dim light of the room reflected miniscule points of fire in Sparatus's eyes. "While we cannot take action against the Hegemony directly, there is nothing prohibiting us from sending a message."

Saren blinked in confusion. Information flowed through his mind, but continually looped back at the inconsistency. "Where are you going with this?"

"Are you aware of the animosity between the humans and batarians?"

Saren thought back to the reported attack on the then-unknown human colony a few months prior. Servius had been ordered to investigate, only to arrive just in time to witness a massive battle. Comprehension slowly filtered through his mind, fitting the pieces into place. "Yes, sir."

"And are you aware of the Council's decision to force the Hegemony to return all slaves?"

Saren gave a slow nod, confidence returning. Sparatus smiled, a needle-toothed expression. "It appears that the Hegemony isn't quite living up to their end of the bargain. The humans have managed to recover thousands of individuals by simply buying them back from the Hegemony – which in turn indicates the humans don't care _how_ they get their people back, so long as they do."

"And this is relevant because …?"

"It's simple really. The Hegemony sold back a few thousand slaves, claiming they were merely acquiring the innocent humans from the degenerates of society, and the payment to be merely the ransom slavers were demanding. No one believes that ludicrous lie, but the humans have little choice other than armed conflict." Sparatus shifted to look back at Saren. Seeing the turian Spectre still did not understand, he sighed, and continued, "The humans are in a similar position as we. STG has concluded that to save face and potential disaster, the Hegemony is distancing itself from the marketing of human slaves and cut virtually all ties with the rogue batarian fleet. That being said, STG has _also_ uncovered that a great many human slaves are being held on Torfan – a fact the humans must know as well."

Saren thought about the small moon frequented by criminals. The stronghold was a dark stain on the galaxy; not as odious as Omega or a dozen sentient-trafficking proto-colonies in the Traverse, but reprehensible nonetheless. Dark rumors abounded about the place, believed by few, but never quite refuted. "I still don't understand why we haven't burn that damn place to the ground."

Sparatus laughed, a rasping sound from deep in his chest. "I can see why you may think that, but I also believe the Spirits favor you. You are about to get your wish."

"Sir?"

"Given the humans are not easily intimidated, and almost certainly would refuse to be bystanders, chances are that they're planning something right now, or soon will be." Sparatus glanced around, checking the corners form what appeared habit than actual concern. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Analysts place an extremely high probability that the Alliance will act on this intelligence, and attack Torfan."

"It is going to be a bloodbath." Despite the potential hazards, the soldier in Saren felt a twinge of admiration. The time for justice had long since passed the miserable planetoid.

"True, but not one covered in turian blood." Sparatus leaned back, resuming a more normal tone, but remained fairly quiet. "The Hierarchy wishes to be involved, and is currently in communication with the humans as we speak. Unofficial, of course but it's happening."

"Where do I fit in?" Saren questioned.

"Simple, the Council cannot ignore this, nor can they appear to be seen as either weak or doing nothing. Therefore – a unofficially – you and your squad are going to assist the humans in freeing any slaves on that moon. If I might suggest, burn that place to the ground with extreme prejudice."

Saren hesitated. "I assume if I am captured or killed the Council will deny any responsibility?"

The Councilor heaved a longsuffering sigh, mandibles quivering shut with a click. "In short, yes. I know it's not an easy thing to ask of you, and not one without risks. Still, the decision is yours."

Saren nodded, struggling to speak with a voice stronger than his body technically should have allowed. "Yes sir, I can do it. I will do it."

"You are aware that the Council and Hierarchy will disavow any knowledge of your or your participation?" Purely rounded spheres peered into his very soul, examining it for flaws.

"Yes, sir."

Sparatus continued watching him, before giving a single, slow nod. Then he extended a hand. "May the spirits guide you, Spectre Saren Arterius."

"Thank you sir. I promise to bring any turians held there back home." Saren reached out a talon, cracked, scratched, and blackened with thick hospital bandages.

"Don't thank me," Sparatus smiled. "But you might need to be more careful in your wishes, Saren. You've impressed me thus far, but I am easy. You will have the entire Hierarchy witnessing your actions. Failure is not an option. In addition, if things go as planned, you will be back in action before these scars have a chance to heal."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Councilor."

* * *

 **Sarlik**

 **Oma Ker**

 **Spaceport**

Tibertitus Strarian never had a chance to view the news broacast. Summoned from his official post in the outskirts of the city, he'd flown at once to Rotas and stayed for only ten hours before being called to make his report to the Primarch.

'Seven months on the job,' he thought, sitting in the empty forward cabin of the airliner, 'and this mess had to happen!'

His two principal deputies, a pair of highly skilled turian engineers, had been left behind on the destroyed Helium-3 refinery and were even now trying to make sense of the chaos and what could be saved. As he reviewed his notes for the Primarch meeting later, he started to realize just how overwhelmingly unprepared he was.

Three hundred turians were known to have died in the fire; medical experts were either still busy gathering more dead or performing the gruesome task of identifying them. So many dead was unfortunate, but not a matter of great significance – except in the fact that they would have to be replaced by staff drawn from other refineries. Assuming they could get the Oma Ker operational again.

And that was the good news. The bad news bordered on catastrophic. Damage inflicted to the refinery was devastating, leaving almost all of it totally destroyed. Reconstruction would take a minimum of two years – possibly three – to rebuild. Then there was the cost of replacing all destroyed or heavily damaged materials critical to a refinery of that size. After that there was the issue of how much special equipment would have to be purchased from outside sources. The volus were a good choice to start, but their reputation of cheap knock-offs made any Primarch hesitate. Elkoss manufacture was a byword among many Hierarchy soldiers for 'substandard.'

'Thirty-six months,' Strarian reflected bleakly, 'If we can divert resources from other parts of the colony while crews work at rebuilding the destroyed refinery, Helium-3 production will be stable for a maximum of eighteen months. We'll need engineers at other refineries to make up what was lost, which means increased workload for everyone.' For a moment, he was glad to be a simple analyst, and not an engineer.

Pulling a holo-tablet from his briefcase, he began to jot down some notes. His flight was only three hours, and Strarian did not notice it was over until the pilot physically came to his seat to announce they had landed.

He looked with squinted eyes at the flora-covered landscape of Sarlik, the VIP-only spaceport outside of the city and walked alone down the boarding stairs to a waiting X3M skycar. The skycar sped off at once, without stopping at any of the security checkpoints, the license on the front window providing clearance. Security officers snapped to attention as the X3M passed, then returned to their business, barely visible from his perspective. The sun was bright, the sky clear – except for some thin, high clouds. Strarian gazed out the windows, vaguely noting the scenery, but his mind continued mulling over figures rechecked a half-dozen times.

It was a start, when the driver had to inform him that the Primarch was waiting, and they would take an express route.

Strarian had been made a consiliario to the system's Primarch for just six months, which meant that along with eight other colleagues, he advised the few men who alone made the decisions that mattered in the colony. His portfolio was energy production and distribution, the sole reason for his summons. He'd held that post since the prior year, and was only just beginning to establish his plan for a total reorganization of the seven regional ministries that handled energy functions – and predictably spent most of their time battling one another – into a full department reporting to the system's Primarch and governor. That would be a much more efficient process instead of having to work through the Council of Ministries bureaucracy. It was his hope that through his method, any reports regarding the colony's energy production, use, and utilization, would be streamlined straight to the colony's leaders.

He briefly closed his eyes to thank the spirits his first recommendation, delivered a month prior to the incident, had concerned security and political reliability in many of the fields. He had specifically recommended further military police forces placed inside the refineries, along with increased fire brigades. For this reason, he did not fear for his own career, which up to now had been an interrupted success story.

But … he shrugged. The imminent task he was to face would decide his future in any case, and perhaps his colony's.

The X3M proceeded down the skylane, speeding through the open center lane the military police kept clear for the exclusive use of _consiliario's_. They sped past various commercial buildings before arriving at the Ministry gates, less than thirty minutes after leaving. Here, the driver stopped for security checks, three of them, conducted by the military police. Five minutes later the skycar pulled into a landing pad in front of the Council Ministry Department, a modern fortress housing some of the colony's most important officials. The guards that worked there knew Strarian by sight, and saluted crisply while holding the door open so his exposure to the humid temperatures would last but a brief moment.

The Council Ministry had been holding its meetings in the fourth floor room for only a month while their usual quarters were undergoing renovations. Strarian made his way through the building, enjoying the few pieces of turian art expressed in the building, taking advantage of the chance to admire something that didn't reek of poor taste. Unlike most of his colleagues, Strarian preferred having exquisite examples of his culture presented.

The room was deathly quiet as he entered. Had this been in an arsenal, the atmosphere would be akin to a company of turian soldiers about to meet their funerals.

"Good day to you all," Strarian said, handing his coat to an aide, who withdrew at once, closing the doors behind her. The other men moved at once to their seats, Strarian taking his halfway down the right side.

The system's Primarch brought the meeting to order. His voice was controlled and businesslike, allowing no emotion; the epitome of efficiency. "Tibertitus Strarian, you may begin your report. First, we wish to hear your explanation of what exactly happened."

Strarian cleared his throat. "As you all know, at approximately oh-six hundred hours yesterday Citadel time, three armed batarians entered the central control complex of the Rotas Helium-3 complex and committed a highly sophisticated act of sabotage."

"Who were they?" A general asked sharply.

"We only have identification for two of them. One of the saboteurs was a staff electrician. The other," Strarian pulled a digital interface from his brief case and placed it on the table, "Was Senior Engineer Tolk. He evidently used his knowledge of our control systems to initiate a massive fire, which spread rapidly before the fire brigades could put it out. A security team of ten military police officers responded to a triggered alarm. The last saboteur, yet to be identified, killed or wounded five of these officers with a Phaeston rifle presumably taken from building security. According to an interview with one of the officers, the lieutenant was killed leading his men. They killed the saboteurs fairly easily, but were unable to prevent the complete destruction of the facility."

"If the guards responded so quickly, how then did they fail to prevent this act?" The general demanded angrily. He examined the interface with palpable hatred in his eyes. "And what was this hideous batarian even doing there in the first place?"

"Work in the refinery fields is arduous, and we've had a serious problem filling many posts there. My predecessor decided to conscript experienced engineers from nearby regions. You will recall my first recommendation last year was to initiate a serious vetting process for any and all new workers, and to limit our hiring's to Citadel affiliated races – with a heavy exception to batarians, as you will understand."

"We have noted it, Strarian," The Primarch said. "Go on."

"The guard post records all radio traffic. The response team was moving in under two minutes, within the expected window. Unfortunately, the guard post was located three kilometers away from the control building. A new security post was supposed to be built nearer to the control building, but plans for it were delayed." Strarian made sure to keep his voice dry, matter-of-fact in tone. There was no reaction around the table. It seemed unspoken consensus agreed that no incident such as this would ever be repeated. Strarian continued. "I have already ordered increased security at all Helium-3 refineries. Also on my orders, all known acquaintances of the saboteurs have been detained for questioning. Before the guards could kill the saboteurs, they were able to disrupt the refinery's control equipment in such a way as to create a massive conflagration. They were also able to wreck the control equipment so that even if a crew of engineers could have been gotten in, it is unlikely that anything would have been saved. The military police were forced to evacuate the building, which was later consumed by the fire." Strarian remembered a sergeant's badly burned face with tears flowing down over the blisters as he told his story. "In conclusion, there was nothing more that could have done."

"What about the fire brigade?" The general asked.

"More than half died fighting the fire," Strarian replied. "Along with over a hundred citizens who joined to save the complex. For the most part, the fire has been put out by now due to the fact that most of the fuels stored in the refinery were consumed in about five hours."

"But how was this catastrophe possible?" A senior member asked.

Strarian was surprised by the quiet silence in the room. 'Have they already met and discussed this affair already?'

"My report described the exact dangers here. The room was quite literally the nerve center controlling the refinery, and the same is true for all of our large Helium-3 complexes. From here, a man familiar with control procedures could manipulate systems throughout the refinery at will, causing the entire complex to self-destruct. Tolk had such skill, which is why I have recommended that we begin compartmentalization of our systems to prevent another act of sabotage such as this."

The Primarch sliced to the heart of the problem, eyes focused on his face. "What effect will this have on production?" Half the turians at the table leaned forward to hear Strarian's answer.

"We have lost thirty-four percent of our total crude Helium-3 production for a period of at least one year. Our other refineries will be forced to cover the loss, overextending their work forces." Strarian looked up from his notes to see the impassive faces cringe as though slapped. "However, the good news is that the facility can be rebuilt, though the hydrogen pipelines would need to be placed away from debris."

"And how long will it take for the Corp of Engineers to restore production?" One of the consiliario's demanded, the head of transportation, Strarian believed.

"If we bring in every production equipment on the colony and operate them around the clock, my rough estimate is that we can begin production in twelve months. Clearing the all of wreckage will take at least three months alone, and another three will be needed to relocate equipment and commence operations. Full operational status will be achieved within two more years. In addition, while this is going on, we will need to replace any lost systems."

"So even three years from now production may not be completely restored?" The Primarch asked.

Strarian double-clicked his mandibles. "Correct. The current situation has never happened before, either in this colony or any other within the Hierarchy. The staff engineers I left behind are making arrangements for production as quickly as possible with equipment already on site."

"Very well," the general nodded. "The next question is how long can the colony operate nominally on this basis?"

Strarian looked back at his notes. "There is no denying that this is a disaster of unprecedented scale to our economy. To answer your specific question general, we can make perhaps a modest reduction in the use of energy in power usage, make some cuts to our machinery and a few services, and finally limit mobilization of our mechanized units. Even then, we can only function for an estimated three months before we face shortages and need to ration. Our best option is to ask for assistance from other colonies to ship fuel for our colony's consumption. I am sure Palaven would understand our situation. Not to mention we will have to improve efficiency in all aspects of our economy, and for that we will need the assistance of the volus."

The Primarch scowled before acquiescing. "Very well. I will get on the line with Palaven and Irune, inform them of our situation and ask for assistance."

"And what about the Hegemony? We can't just let them off the hook! We must do something to show them we'll not take this lying down!" The general angrily demanded.

Every turian showed a face of sympathy, but it was Strarian who broke the silence. "That would be … difficult."

"And why is that?" The general snarled. His chilling tone sent shivers up Strarian's spine, making him wonder if it had been a good idea to speak up at all.

Regaining his bearings, he answered the general, "Because from what we've discovered thus far, the terrorists had no connection or direct ties with the Hegemony. So we can't officially do anything."

Officially being the keyword," the Primarch said, capturing all ears. "Thanks to intelligence kindly gathered and shared by the STG, the humans are preparing for an operation. Most likely to regain their captured civilians. Perhaps we can provide some assistance – off the record."

The general laughed a great plate-cracking guffaw in their presence, uncharacteristic of turians. "Well Primarch, I am beginning to like you more and more."

"Whatever your wish is, sir." Strarian demurred, unable to challenge the Primarch's words. Even if he had concerns of such actions actions. Primarily of how they were to keep their involvement concealed.

"It is a good thing as well, Councilor Sparatus should be convincing speaking with our very own Spectres as we speak." The Primarch stood and looked at the gathered men. "I must excuse myself, I have preparations to make. I don't believe it to be worth mentioning, that I will not worry about what we have just discussed to leave the room." The subtext was clear to all in the room; whatever happened next would be critical for efforts far beyond their colony.

* * *

 **London**

 **Earth, Alliance Headquarters**

 **Briefing Room, Alliance space**

This was the first time Hower had been in this particular highly secure briefing room on Earth. He'd heard rumors of the amphitheater. Its aura almost breathed of secrecy, as if gravely important matters were regularly discussed within its circular walls. Certainly almost everyone whom had been there experienced a life-changing events … and not necessarily for the better.

And today, Hower had a feeling his _own_ life was about to change. Clustered around him were roughly four dozen N7 marines of similar rank, many of whom he did not know. What could possibly call for such a gathering of elite warriors?

General Volodin and Fleet Admiral Spencer entered the chamber without fanfare. Spencer returned their salute as another man soon followed after, one of clear North American descent. From the uniform, the man was UNAS navy captain. One many in the Service knew on sight to be an exceedingly dangerous individual. Hower swallowed. Hard.

The N7 marines stood at attention and saluted.

"At ease," the admiral motioned them back.

Spencer escorted Volodin to the center stage, both conversing without words, even to Hower's sight. Spencer sat next to the UNAS captain, while General Volodin stood at the podium. Just then, the door whispered opened again. This time a group of fourteen individuals entered. The majority of the newcomers were mostly comprised of turians with a salarian and asari thrown into the mix for seeming variety. However, four of the newcomers stood out as humans, their uniform indicating membership in the Spetsnaz Guards. One of them – Hower recognized immediately – was Captain Izotov, the Russian squad leader who had nearly blown up Hower and his squad on their final mission to capture the batarian colonel on Shanxi. Hower wasn't excited to be working with him again, or his squad if they were anything like their leader.

It was then that the N7 marines did a collective double take at the sight of another group of four individuals. The marines – and Hower by extension – a recognized each of them by their respective trademark uniform, emblazoned with gray insignia, indicating their position as elite warriors for the Citadel: Council Spectres.

Before Hower could make any more observations, the newcomers faced the marines, snapping crisp salutes before taking positions next to the N7s, facing the podium. Among the marines, there were slight twitches and glances at the newcomers. Hower could read them all, and knew them to be as confused as he. What the hell was going on?

"Good evening, marines," Volodin began. His form atop the podium shimmered in the spotlights. "Please, take your seats."

As one, they sat. By the suppressed mirth on Admiral Spencer's face, Hower could tell they'd been caught staring at the newcomers. But Volodin soon continued.

"I understand that you are all very confused at the moment. I promise you explanations in good time. First, let me say this. You are to be commended for having the best operational record of any unit in the fleet by far. Two months ago, in the midst two bitter weeks of combat, there have been a over three hundred KIAs and several hundred wounded or missing in action."

He paused to look at them, a rare smile forming. "It is very good to see that many have made it out of that hell hole." The smile slowly faded, replaced with the normal taciturn expression more common to his face. "However it is my severe regret that I will ask all of you gathered here to once again venture into the darkness that is war."

Volodin paused, sipping from a styrofoam cup before returning his attention to the crowd. "You have all been assembled tonight to prepare for what could easily be a pivotal moment in history: Operation Eagle Claw. As many of you know, during the raid on Shanxi, the batarian slavers were able to make it out with hundreds of thousands of civilians, and while we have managed to regain some there is no doubt in anyone's mind that the Hegemony isn't interested in returning the rest. And if they aren't interested in giving us back our people, then it is time for us to _take_ them back, forcefully if necessary. Captain Murray here …" Volodin motioned to the UNAS captain. "… shall give you the full details."

The general surrendered the stage to the Captain. Hower noted that the newcomers didn't seem to recognize the man either, for obvious reasons.

Murray made a rasping noise, setting off the microphone in a basso rumble. "My name is Captain Jacob Murray. I am a captain within the UNAS navy. I am sure that many of you are wondering why someone from a member state of the Alliance is briefing you, but the special nature of this operation mandates my involvement."

The room darkened, allowing a large hologram of an unfamiliar planetoid take shape in the air behind the podium. Multiple squares blossomed to the sides, showcasing views from positions much closer to ground level. Based on the images, it looked as if its environment were hot and dry, with a rocky terrain and a single body of water. It orbited a gas giant and if Hower comprehended the readings aright, required a shield for inhabited areas.

"This, based on our intelligence, is what the batarians called Torfan. We have strong evidence that this is where the remaining humans are being held. This moon has long since served as a base for criminals, mostly batarians, who have built deep underground strongholds. It is a single class D moon orbiting a class J gas giant. The surface is arid and contains only one large body of water; the majority of water exists in subterranean aquifers. All life on the planet has evolved to rapidly consume water, and often conserve moisture to the extreme. Thankfully, you won't have much trouble with indigenous life. This system lies on the edge of the Attican Traverse and is considered by the Hegemony to be untouchable. Your mission is simple: you are going to prove them wrong, get in there, eliminate all opposition, and rescue the captives."

Hower raised his hand, eliciting an acknowledging nod from the Captain.

"And if the enemy surrenders?"

"Excellent question. If the enemy does indeed surrender the course of action is entirely up to you. I want all of you to understand …," Murray said, looking around the room and into everyone's eyes, "…that you may not have the time nor the manpower to properly secure them in the chaotic environment. You will be too busy either combating the batarian slavers or escorting the human captives." The captain smiled lost in thought before continuing.

"Believe me when I say commander, that this assignment will test your will and resolve. I will personally be operating in a support capacity so I cannot order you to choose a particular course of action. The captives take priority above anything else. Do what is necessary to get those captives out of there by any means."

 _'Do you realize what you are saying?_ ' Thoughts echoed in Hower's mind. He understood a few commanders present had lost many soldiers fighting the batarians, and were likely itching for payback. He held no doubt some would take advantage of the situation to settle personal scores. A part of his mind rebelled at the very thought of allowing such acts, but his more rational side prevailed. Whatever the batarians were, they had long decided their fates by becoming slavers, taking humans, and attacking the Alliance. Hower gave a reluctant glower, but refrained from further questions.

"Operation Eagle Claw will proceed as following. Phase one: a small team of N7 marines will deploy to Torfan's surface via one of the captured batarian drop-ships and eliminate any AA defense. My ship will carry the rest of the operatives, and deploy groundside once the AA threat has been eliminated."

Hower was unaware of any batarian ship ever being captured, his own personal experience indicating the enemy prefer destroying their own ships than let the enemy capture it. He'd read the reports on Shanxi, of many ships being destroyed … any salvage had to be a rather difficult task.

"Phase two: N7 marines, Spectres, and Cabals will deploy, gaining entrance through multiple bunkers to avoid our forces being bottlenecked."

Hower again raised his hand.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Sir, will we be given mission specialist personnel to access the batarian computers?"

The captain grinned and turned to Spencer.

"I'll let the admiral explain that one." Spencer took the center stage.

"In a manner of speaking," the Navy man said. "We will come to that point later. Let me assure you however that this specialist may not be the ideal candidate, but he is our best and only option to deploy on Torfan discreetly."

Like Captain Murray's statements … Admiral Spencer's reply was another puzzle. Who exactly was their specialist? What was their combat experience? Would they be a liability? These questions were vital; if the specialist was just a computer analyst then the marines would have to babysit a vulnerable package while in a combat hot zone. Many soldiers would prefer KP duty for months.

"Phase three," Murray continued, "will consist of locating the captives' location, and escort them to the extraction point on the planet's surface. Once everyone is ready for extraction, pop a green flare so my ship can begin deploying Falcons for pickup."

Several questions formed in Hower's mind. How would they gain access to any batarian's computers if there was only going to be one specialist? Another concern immediately sprang to mind, who would pilot the batarian dropship? Had anyone ever deciphered the batarian's control systems? It seemed unlikely since his team was the closest to such knowledge … but they'd failed miserably. If only an AI had been available, or more time to download from one of the corvette's terminals.

More questions raced through his mind. Were there batarian recognition signals needed from the dropship? Or would they be hoping the incoming batarian shuttle would be enough to fool them? When a plan had so many missing bits of data, the marines had been trained to stop and reconsider its effectiveness. Unanswered questions led to complications – 'snags'. And snags led to injuries, death, and failed missions. Of course there were situations where the marines| _had_ to deploy with limited intel or even none at all, but an operation this big – in cooperation with other forces no less – led to many complications. Simpler was better. He held his questions though. For now.

"Phase four will be the elimination of any evidence showing Alliance or Hierarchy presence on the moon and return to Alliance space. That part of the operation will be the responsibility of Captain Izotov's squad," Murray indicated Spetsnaz with an open palm. "I highly recommend everyone be extracted from the moon should any of you desire to continue living."

Murray's words sent a shiver up Hower's spine. Thoughts of what the Spetsnaz would do to purge all evidence of the operation sent dark fantasies to his mind. For a moment he almost pitied the batarians. If the Spetsnaz were involved, then it was clear it was going to be a bloodbath.

Hower considered the mission plan for a moment, noting the other gathered forces take it all in. This operation would be the hardest engagement of his life by leaps and bounds. Even if everything went according to plan, there was no conceivable way they wouldn't lose people to the strong defenses. But … he remembered the men lost under his command on Shanxi. If the cost to return all humans to their home was for him and his team to make the ultimate sacrifice – he could live with that. Metaphorically speaking.

"This op is considered extremely high risk. There are too many unknown elements involved, and we simply do not have the time to gather the required intelligence. I speak for all of the Alliance when I say that we cannot order any of you to do this. This is a volunteer only operation. Anyone willing to take part in this, please stand."

Almost as one, nearly every member of the audience stood up. One human near the end, bowed his head regretfully, and moved back; the door opened just enough for him to exit, and he was gone. Yet, there was an obvious look of pride on both the Admiral and General's faces.

"While there are other details of the mission that you need to be briefed on, I'm sure that you want some answers."

The question that came foremost to the Commander's mind was how many marines would be taking part in the operation. Looking around, he could tell an operation of this magnitude would surely need more than a few dozen operatives.

The captain gestured to the turian Cabals and Spectre teams to come up onto the stage.

"To fully explain the situation requires time that I do not have at the moment." Murray continued. "Admiral Spencer will see to it that the proper files will be made available to you regarding the Hierarchy's unofficial participation in the raid. Suffice to say, today marks a pivotal moment in history and the official activation of the First N7 Marine battalion."

For a few seconds, Hower's mind ground to a halt. A battalion was anywhere between two hundred fifty to well over eight hundred men. In some ways, it made sense in light of this operation. The Alliance would commit all necessary resources only if there was enough manpower to make it successful. The generals and admirals weren't deluding themselves about their prospects of survival.

Hower mentally screeched to a halt again as he realized what the Captain had just said: an entire _battalion_. That meant this would be first time the N7 marines would be operating on a scale larger than platoon sized for an extended period of time. Now Hower wanted to see those files even more.

The captain turned to the Spectres and Cabals.

"Saren. Nyreen. I think that it's time for you to introduce yourselves." Two turians stepped forth, a male and female. The male had the basic features of most male turians with azure eyes and a prominent scar on his left cheek. The female lacked the head-crests of her male counterpart, but had red clan markings on her face.

The male flipped his mandibles, bowing slightly with one arm folded to his chest. "Major Saren Arterius, Citadel Spectres. Commanding officer of Zeta Team.

Stepping forward in imitation, the female followed suit. "Lieutenant Nyreen Kandros. Charlie Company, First battalion. Kabalim of Noricum."

Both turians showed all the physical signs of being experienced veterans, but their eyes shone like a freshman cadet's in the naval academy.

 _'Excited at the inclusion, or just naïve? Hopefully excited.'_

"For at least the duration of this mission…" Murray continued, "…the Spectres and Cabals here will form the vanguard and assist in the operation in any capacity they can. Commander Howe, your unit is assigned to operate in conjunction with them. Cooperate with Nyreen and Saren to deploy these men and women as seen fit."

Howe shifted ever so slightly. He was confident in his ability to command anything up to a battalion – something he'd done in the recent past during high risk ops – but it felt somewhat uncomfortable at the prospects of ordering around units that weren't his, or even of the same species. The captain noticed his discomfort. Admiral Spencer noticed as well.

"Do you have a problem, commander?"

"It's nothing, sir." Howe quickly responded. A little _too_ quickly. Silence hung in the air for a few more seconds as Murray kept a knowing gaze on Hower.

There was no sense hiding why he was almost fidgeting now.

"Sir, while I am more than willing to carry out the mission within the stated parameters, it feels… odd… for me to command units that I have no knowledge. I don't know their combat skills, their experience, or how best they are to be utilized. Sir."

Murray chuckled slightly. Strangely, Admiral Spencer boasted a conspiratorial smile; he obviously knew something that the marines didn't.

"Yes, that would be a bit awkward. Which is why you won't be necessarily ordering them around, but rather working with them to complete the mission. For simplicity sake they still fall under their respective leaders command but you will be our official liaison to them. I know it will be quite a juggling exercise, but I am confident that you will succeed in this endeavor."

For the third time in an hour, Hower's train of thoughts came crashing off the rails. For the first time in a long time, all of the marines clapped and cheered for their newly appointed liaison. A few grinned widely, while others whistled. Howe felt the blood flowing to his cheeks, showing his clear embarrassment.

"Hey slow down mate, you still need to be promoted to operate three teams!" One marine yelled.

 _'Damn bastards are enjoying this too much.'_ Hower thought as the teasing continued. Making that kind of mistake in front of leathernecks was just asking for mockery.

Just then, the Captain checked his chronometer and raised a hand to silence the crowd.

"Unfortunately, the admiral and I are out of time. All the necessary information will be forwarded to your omni-tools at the earliest opportunity. Operation Eagle Claw is slated to begin in seventy two hours. I know that you would all prefer to get to know each other right now, but the Spectres and Cabals are needed to finalize the new equipment slated for this operation. In the meantime, you will be given new armor, equipment, and weapons. And please don't forget to speak with me regarding any arrangements you may wish to make on the ship."

The captain and admiral left for the exit. The other marines poured onto the stage to offer their personal congratulations.

* * *

 **London**

 **Earth, Alliance Headquarters**

 **Personal Quarters, Alliance space**

Murray poured himself another cup of tea. Before he sat the teapot down, he proffered the container to Spencer. "You're sure that I can't interest you in some Oolong tea?"

"I'll pass, thank you. I am more of a coffee person." Spencer replied.

"I could have brought in some coffee if you'd asked."

"Why don't we skip straight to business, captain?"

Murray sighed in resignation. "It hurts me that you won't allow me to be a gracious host, but alright."

"I'm still surprised that you are still intent on having the Cabals and Spectres take part in the operation."

"The marines will need their skills." Murray inhaled the aroma; Oolong tea held a cherished tradition among much of Earth, despite the political dissatisfaction among its origins. For himself, the beverage gave a sense of comfort, a taste of home no matter where he was.

Spencer huffed. "The Cabals I can understand, their biotics will help immeasurably for storming the bunkers, but are you sure about the Spectres?"

"It is a sign the Council has given us their consent, unofficially, but it is still nice they will let us kill some four-eyes. Besides, Torfan has been a thorn on their side for way too long. Allowing us to take it out means we get our people back and remove a stain on the Council without them having to lift a finger. It's a win-win, the way I see it."

Spencer leaned forward. "Are you sure they will follow protocol? Spectres are notorious for playing by their own rules. The only entity they obey is the Council and we aren't it."

"I won't argue semantics with you, admiral." Murray reluctantly set his cup down, but kept his hands around the bowl for warmth. "Yes, the Spectres are held on a very loose leash, but you are forgetting the Spectre leader is a turian, and a good turian always obeys orders. With him on our side, the rest should stay within operational constraints."

"And if they find any turian slaves, how do we know they won't just bail on us and rescue them instead of staying on mission?"

Murray smiled. "Easy. If they do go off the reservation, we simply let them rescue any slaves that aren't human, and return them to their respective homes. I am sure that will win us some brownie points after we take care of Torfan. If not, hopefully it will be enough for them to forgive us."

Spencer let out a sigh. "Do you JSF mooks always try to manipulate everyone?"

"Only when it is beneficial. Anyway, Eagle Claw is set." The captain gave in, and took another sip. "And besides, we already have the mechs loaded onto my ship. The marines are certainly going to need the extra guns."

* * *

 **A/N:** So last chapter I had a few reviewers asking what the point was of the previous chapter, the context of it, and why it didn't advanced the plot. To put it simply, it was to set up the events for this arch. Unlike the previous archs, which had the benefit of starting exactly where the last ended, this arch begins after a short time skip, thus requiring the previous chapter to set the events necessary for what we have planned. We needed the events from the last chapter to occur in order to provide the necessary motivation to lead the characters shown in this chapter to come to the decisions they've made. Otherwise it would look as if the characters were making their decisions with no motivation behind them. I hope to those that were lost in the last chapter are now aware of what I was planning and now understand where the arch is leading. I would like those same reviewers that asked me about the purpose of the last chapter to comment if I had succeeded in not only explaining it via AN notes, but also in regards to this chapter. If not please provide suggestions on how I can improve to avoid making the same mistake. Also please comment if this chapter has or has not advanced the plot and as per my previous recommendation, provide suggestions on how I can advance it.

Also in case anyone is wondering why the Enforcers or NCRA is not involved it is simply because I could not find a way to involve them in the story without stripping them of their character. The Enforcers have a moral code, which would be a determent on Torfan, considering it is going to be a bloodbath. I mean it is here where we get to see the Butcher of Torfan, wiping out unarmed and surrendered batarians, which would have created a conflict with the Enforcers. As for the NCRA, it is more likely they would go rogue and just start killing batarians, which is kind of a plus for the operation, but the issue then becomes that they won't fall back when ordered to and that would create other problems. I have given a lot of thought to the factions that were going to be introduced in the story as well as the type of events that would occur on Torfan and came to the conclusion that the JSF and SGB are the two factions, whose profile would align with this type of operation. For example, the JSF are masters of stealth and that will be necessary to infiltrate the moon and the SGB are ruthless SOBs that will enjoy killing batarians, but also know when to fall back. After all why die when you can live on and kill more batarians in the future. Anyway I hope my explanation why these two factions are involved and the other two aren't is acceptable to you guys.

 **Trivia:**

1\. The description of Torfan and its environment is fully thanks to V-rcngetorix as it was his vision of the moon that we went with. Please applaud the man, for he helped tremendously in this regard. Here is the link we used for describing Torfan: /database/planet_

2\. Kablim is the turian word for Commanding Officer of a Cabal team according to wiki/Turian_Cabals. So if I am wrong, blame them. I do try to research as best as I can though.

3\. Nyreen's cabal team name is inspired by an actual Roman legion assigned to NR Noricm providence that is today Austria. See how reading this fic makes you learn! XD.

4\. So know we get to see the SGB are involved and it's our favorite Captain Izotov of the 68th armored. What does this mean for Torfan? What was Captain Murray implying by saying: "They were going to take care of Torfan." And what about the mechs that were mentioned? How will they figure into this?

5\. Operation Eagle Claw is a reference to the failed U.S operation to rescue U.S civilians held hostage in the embassy in Iran during the Iranian hostage crisis.

6\. We finally get introduced to the first Canadian character in the story: Captain Jacob Murray and we will also the see debut of the first UNAS navy ship in the next chapter hopefully.

7\. Murray is a reference to Canada's arguably most important naval commander in WW2, Rear Admiral Leonard W. Murray.

8\. Consiliario, Strarian's status, is latin for advisor.


	26. Chapter 26 - In the Lion's Den

2-27-2157 0934 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **London**

 **Earth, Alliance Headquarters**

 **Naval Shipyard**

Captain Murray tapped the thrusters of the Falcon shuttle. The small craft, in comparison to a true naval ship, rolled, bringing the _UNASS Clarence E. Walsh_ into view. Normally, naval officers did not ferry themselves around Terran shipyards, but Murray had insisted. All unauthorized personnel were restricted to a narrow path around the ship; he wanted to take a careful look at his command before actually accepting the position.

While already one of the most advanced warships in the UNAS fleet, the _Clarence E. Walsh_ was presently undergoing retrofits to install even more advanced systems, upgrading its arsenal to beyond cutting-edge capacity. The first thing that caught Murray's eyes wasn't the ship itself; but rather it was the sheer swarm of shuttles, construction drones, and engineers hovering around the destroyer. To the uninformed eye, it looked like every technician in the country was committed to the _Walsh_. Even with his personal experience piloting shuttles, Murray strained himself to avoid collisions in the immense traffic. Once he finally got in close, the captain got a good look at his improved ship.

It was worth the effort.

The destroyer was everything he had envisioned. The dual main Mass Accelerators ran nearly through the entire ship, giving it improved firepower over a standard vessel of comparative mass. Nearly a hundred 50mm Gauss broadside guns and 30mm Mass Accelerator defense turrets lined the entire hull. The engineers flitting around its surface were fitting thick layers of angular, stealth-coated armor. It looked as if the material was made of titanium, sheets of the strong metal being placed over the pre-existing ablative armor. The overall effect gave the hull a massive feel, making Murray worry the excess mass could slow acceleration. In this operation, taking hits would be secondary to avoiding them. But then, through the pods of Kinetic Rods and Patriot missiles being installed, he could make out additional thrusters, being fitted the hull.

' _Well that solves that problem, but can the ship be able to handle the additional improvements?'_ Murray wasn't one to be paranoid, but he hoped the ship's reactor had been improved as well. There were definitely more than a few questions needing answers before the mission got underway.

He touched down on an automated landing platform and locked the controls down. Long moments later, the shuttle descended below decks and was cycled through the airlock. Captain Murray gathered his materials and stepped on the flight deck, feeling an internal buzz of distress as he stepped of the shuttle into the hangar of the ship. His boots seemed to cling to the polished floor and his intestines felt as though they'd been compressed under a stone. Artificial gravity was an old, familiar sensation, one he could recall from his first years as a cadet on the _UNASS Ottawa_. Looking back, he suddenly felt a little old.

"Captain Murray, sir! Welcome aboard." An ensign greeted him.

Murray acknowledged the ensign standing at rigid attention. The man's posture was adequate, uniform properly maintained, though his blood shot and sunken eyes betraying long hours of work without rest.

The two exchanged salutes. "It's nice to be aboard," Murray momentarily looked at his ship, silently admiring the craftsmanship that went into its creation. "I assume you are here to bring me up to speed on the ship's modifications?"

"Yes, sir! Your weapons officer is currently trying to familiarize herself with the new upgrades."

Murray felt surprised. His weapons officer was considered something as a prodigy when it came to naval combat, scoring among the top of her class. If she was still learning the applications of the ship's improvements, then it only meant he had a lot of work ahead of him.

"Please, allow me to give you the full tour." The captain nodded and ensign began to lead the way, briskly taking steps to cover large ground. For a moment Murray struggled to keep up, but managed to find an appropriate pace. The two proceeded to the elevators and once inside, the ensign punched in the buttons for engineering. The platform accelerated and the two men held onto the rails to keep their stance. "There's a lot to go through, Captain, but I believe engineering would be the best place to start."

"I must say that I don't recognize much on the subject."

The ensign gave a nod. "Yes, that is to be expected. The _Walsh_ is very different from what she was a few months ago," the ensign politely did not comment on the ignorance. "Believe me when I say Captain that you're standing on the most advanced naval ship in the fleet."

A slight hiss from the opening elevator doors heralded their arrival. The engineer ushered Murray into the massive deck that was engineering. It easily stood five stories tall, with multiple catwalks and rails crisscrossing the space.

"And here it is the heart of the ship." The ensign pointed out to the massive reactor at the center. The main ring was nestled in the center of what appeared to be to smaller reactor rings, coiled upon each other like ancient monsters, waiting for Armageddon. Technicians stood watch along the catwalks, taking readings and monitoring the output displays from the terminals lining the walls.

"Well this certainly is an interesting design."

"Yes, the design itself is rather new. In fact, it had been in the prototypes stages until a month ago." The ensign smiled proudly, despite his weariness.

"I presume all bugs have been worked out?" Murray questioned. Technologies in the prototype stages always carried bugs needing careful attention.

The ensign hastened to reassure him. "Of course. The UNAS wouldn't bother installing it, if it hadn't been thoroughly tested. Um, highlights; the _Walsh_ utilizes two Grade Three fusion reactors to supercharge the main reactor. Their overlapping magnetic fields can temporarily boost power to nearly three hundred percent."

"Such a design would be sure to generate immense heat and radiation."

"Exactly," the ensign nodded. "That's why the reactors themselves are both shielded by kinetic barriers, and have coolant pipes pumping chilled ions to neutralize waste heat. The more the power is cranked up, the more juice we have to cool the system. It is very efficient."

Murray whistled in appreciation as he scrutinized the room. While not capable of fully understanding the system, he appreciated the amount of planning.

"As I am sure you've noticed en route, the ship also has additional thrusters and improved maneuvering engines. In order for the ship to handle the additional upgrades, we installed a newer He-3 Fusion engine, the THX-1300 model."

Murray turned to the ensign with raised eyebrows. He-3 fusion was not new technology; in fact the Council races had been using it for millennia, powering their own ships. Per mass unit, fusion was both more powerful and efficient than the standard deuterium/tritium reactors found in early Alliance ships, models that could manage the vast bulk of its energy output in the form of charged particles. The drawbacks however were the manifold increases in critical pressure maintaining the reactions; in essence making it a lot hotter and a lot harder to contain.

"Tell me more about the engine." Murray asked. Making note of a rather basic technology didn't seem important – therefore it had to be noteworthy for a reason.

The ensign gave a nod. "Unlike like most He-3 fusion reactors that need to concentrate on power generation and containment, the THX model uses kinetic barriers around the reactors to focus solely on power generation. In simple terms, this allows generation of up to seven times the normal output, giving the engine a very high output ceiling. In combat situations, this improvement makes the _Walsh_ as fast as a frigate."

Murray gave a nod while he stared at the reactors. This gave him more options when engaging enemy forces, options considered impossible before.

"I figured bringing you to engineering first would allow you to understand the other shipboard systems. It is also the perfect example of most of the other new advancements on the ship."

Murray nodded appreciatively. Doubts about fielding prototype technologies put to rest, he soon began thinking on the best ways to utilize these improvements.

"Why don't we go and check out the main guns, Captain." The ensign said as he gestured to the elevator again.

"Lead the way."

When the two finally arrived at the main guns, Murray once again found himself unfamiliar with the surrounding technology, not that he should be surprised at this point. For one thing, the normal casing-encircled coils at the emplacements seemed to be missing, replaced by massive circles inset to the walls. Standardized warning labels in four languages sat in the usual locations, over control panels that looked strangely familiar.

Murray checked himself. The controls were identical to the manuals on the sides of the weapons on other ships; these were the same, but larger. _Much_ larger.

Correlation dawned on him, "Their capable of firing larger slugs." It came out more as a statement than a question.

The ensign gave a polite nod. "Correct, though that is merely half of the improvement. The other half is that the ship can fire larger slugs, at a higher velocity with only a moderate increase in recoil."

Murray nodded in comprehension. Ever since their inception, Mass Accelerators could propel a metal slug, using precisely-controlled electromagnetic attraction and propulsion, to great velocities but the recoil had always been the prime limiting factor. If this limitation had been worked around, then his ship was even more dangerous.

"Of course this does come with a slight setback." The ensign interrupted.

"And that would be?"

"Rate of fire." The ensign gave him a sheepish look. "While it's not too noticeable, the main guns are able to consistently fire once every five seconds, but that's to be expected considering. Thirty-kilogram slugs at four thousand klicks a second makes for fifty-four kilotons of firepower.

Murray felt a grim smile inch across his face as he realized the potential. Fifty-four kilotons was still less than a standard cruiser's capacity, but the moderate increase greatly put the odds of any fight in his favor. Especially when he could alternate between main guns, standard tactics, on any destroyer, to artificially increase the rate of fire. _That_ meant his ship was no longer a destroyer, but a _heavy_ destroyer; quite possibly the first of its class and type. Given the overwhelming advantages, Murray didn't mind the slight decrease in rate of fire. In waging battle, such a thing wouldn't be noticed outside of a prolonged fight.

"And that isn't all." The ensign flicked his wrist at a terminal, bringing up a holographic display of a rather unusual round. "This is the Mk. 2 round. Unlike most Mass Accelerators, which fire chips or pellets, these guns use serrated metal wedges. Good for armor penetration, and it really improves things for planet-based targets."

The captain raised his eyebrows. The upgrades he had seen thus far were very intelligent but this was trending into dangerous waters. "Is such a thing even legal?"

The ensign shrugged his shoulders. "Well we know it's not a hundred percent illegal."

Murray's brows rose on that piece of information. "That doesn't exactly make me feel any better."

"Well I doubt the Council could complain considering they've allowed a slaver nation to operate under their own flag. Besides on this operation you will need every advantage you can get."

Seeing his ship in a new light, Murray acknowledged that the _Walsh_ was definitely packing a lot of offensive firepower. But he was curious to learn about the other upgrades. Ever since the war on Shanxi, continuous analysis of the engagements had been hotly debated. One thing, however, was clear: the use of missiles to overwhelm either the kinetic barriers or hull of the enemy ships proved highly effective. Council specialists had once theorized that in the age of space warfare, missiles would be relegated to a last ditch defensive role, since individual missiles lacked the necessary damage potential. But what theorists had failed to acknowledge was the simple fact that humanity never intended to just use a few hundred missiles, but rather employ them in swarms of thousands by whole flotillas in fleets to overwhelm the enemy.

"What about the secondary weapons? Were they upgraded as well?"

The ensign grinned. He definitely had more surprises in store for Murray. "Of course, Captain. Please, follow me to one of the missile pod A-Five."

Once again, the elevator collected the two men and disgorged them at one of the forward pods storing the heavy ordinance. Inside over a dozen technicians were securing missiles, locking them into heavily armored containers. The two began strolling among the men and women.

"Most of the missiles onboard are the standard kinetic rods that you North Americans are so fond of. We didn't want to leave you with nothing that was familiar to you or your crew." The ensign stopped by a blue-tipped missile, gesturing the technician aside for the moment. "This is the Mk. 4 ECM missile. It has no real offensive capabilities; instead it disrupts all electromagnetic sensors within a 50-km radius. The effect alters range, position, velocity calculations – and it generates thousands of ghost signatures to overwhelm enemy VI."

Murray was quick to see the obvious benefits of such a system. Nearly half of a kinetic rod salvo would be intercepted by GARDIAN lasers. Electronic warfare made things … different.

"That certainly is a game-changer. I could certainly use those. What else do you have?"

The ensign led him across the bay, this time to mostly gray-tipped missile with a blue fuselage. Murray instantly recognized them as disruptor torpedoes. What he also noticed was how the torpedoes were bolted together, each rounded cylinder as reflective as a mirror. The surfaces of the missiles were very clean and reflective as a mirror.

"This here is Mk. 68 advanced heavyweight torpedo, or as the Council races call them: Javelin missiles. For us, it's an experimental close assault weapon. This is another Council inspired piece of technology. Council races use these babies in place of actual missiles though. The difference here is ours don't have to be cold launched; each has its own propulsion system for faster target acquisition. They can also be fired on converging trajectories and detonate in a precisely timed sequence that allows the dark energy emitted by their warheads to resonate in a dis-harmonic field." The ensign took a deep breath after that extensive explanation.

"How do they compare against regular Disruptor Torpedoes?" Murray understood the basic concept of the weapon; they were considered standard load out for destroyers. It was possible these Javelin missiles had outright replaced the standard torpedoes, considering the ship wouldn't have enough space to carry the standard loadout, plus the modifications. Just by how the engines hummed, he could tell they were already stretching the carrying capacity.

"Well they are much more efficient, have more firepower, and with our antiproton thrusters are guaranteed to allow many more to reach the target. Of course, they cost more than a couple of hundred Disruptor Torpedoes so don't expect to see these in wide-scale production. Chances are you are the only one that will get to use these for this operation only. Once you expend these, UNAS may not even bother making more."

That was certainly true. A regular Alliance destroyer carried ninety torpedoes and often many didn't get to reach their target. Anything that required a long-range attack was usually followed by Kinetic Rods, Seeker Rockets, or Harpoon Missiles. Murray could see why the Citadel races would use these as a substitute for missiles as they did seem to get the job done, even if many more had to be fired. Yet, with the ECM missiles aboard, Murray could make extremely effective use of these Javelin missiles, keeping his Kinetic Rods in reserve. More importantly, he only needed to drain the kinetic barriers – kinetic rods have proven themselves to be quite effective against unshielded ships.

"How many do we have onboard?"

"For this operation, I got every single one we've made thus far. About eight hundred of them, but they aren't the biggest toy you have onboard. Please follow me." Once again, the ensign headed onward, and the two traversed to another missile. This particular missile was colored entirely red, and large; wider than Murray was tall. Most tellingly though was the familiar nuclear hazard sign on the missile.

"This little baby is one of the twenty Mk 23 Heavy Eraser Torpedoes on the _Walsh_. It packs an entire megaton warhead, but we managed to modify it to more … UNAS standards. It has a stealth system running cold enough to blend in with the background radiation. While slower than the high-yield thermobaric missiles, it makes up for that with raw power. It also features a biased tamper warhead design. The depleted uranium tamper is thinner on one side and is fitted on a concave tungsten tamper. When the torpedo is triggered, the biased tamper and exterior concave focuses both the radiation blast and plasma pressure forward."

Murray understood the principal design on the weapon. This focused blast at least partially alleviated the problem space-borne explosives: as distance increased, the luminosity decreased exponentially, making even the most powerful nukes impotent. While the focus blast design didn't necessarily solve the issue, it did extend the effective range of nuclear detonation.

"Very good. I can see these being incredibly useful. But what about defensive weapons?"

"Ah yes," the ensign shuffled his feet. "I'd like to show you to them personally, but … that would require a shuttlecraft, and I'm running a little short on time. So why don't we just go to the bridge and I'll show you there?"

"Of course."

Again, the two men entered the elevator. This time though Murray noticed that the lift seemed to be moving backwards.

"Um … we seem to be headed aft, ensign. Is there a problem?"

"Oh no. There was no mistake. The CIC is now in the center of the ship. We cleared out a cargo bay for the space."

"Ah." So now the bridge was in the center of the ship. While he could understand the practicality, Murray couldn't help but feel a little agitated. Every ship – until now – had its bridge at the bow of the ship. Admittedly, it was rather stupid to make the nerve center of the ship so exposed, but the view and romance of the stars was hard to ignore.

The lift finally opened. After a short walk, down a narrow – but very defensible – corridor, they arrived at the CIC. At once, the bridge crew dropped their current tasks and stood at attention.

"Captain on deck!" Lt. Aku announced.

"As you were." Murray responded. The crew turned back to their stations, save for the lieutenant. She looked pretty ragged with bags underneath her eyes. The last time Murray had seen someone like this was right before final exams back at the naval academy.

"Welcome aboard, Captain."

"Likewise, Lieutenant. The ensign here has been giving me a very informative tour of the ship. What do you think of the _Walsh_ so far?"

"To be honest, I feel …" She took a deep breath before speaking again. "I feel like I'm back at the academy." She said as she tried to put wayward strands of hair back into their place. "These new modifications are a lot of homework. Don't get me wrong, I think they are absolutely worth it, but it's like I'm starting over on everything.

Murray tried to stifle a chuckle. Enjoying the crew's mental misery shouldn't be a visible thing. "Well I wish you a good night sleep after you're finished lieutenant. We'll need everyone at their best for the mission to come. In the meantime, I hope I won't be too much of a bother while I check out the ship's defensive systems.

Aku rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. What was the question?"

A pregnant pause hung in the air as the smile vanished from Murray's face as he eyed the lieutenant. "Got get some sleep," he said. "That's an order."

"B-but … I'm not finished with…"

"We can afford to lose you for eight or nine hours. Eagle Claw isn't set for another couple of days." Murray countered as he gently pushed her towards the door. By this point, the ensign had broken out into a laugh. Murray could only give him a disapproving glare, until the woman had dragged herself out. "You know, you remind me of an old professor of mine that enjoys torturing his students with excessive homework."

"Hehehehe. Well that is ironic considering its a vice I picked up from one of my own professors back at the academy. Well why don't we get back to business." The ensign moved to the main holographic display. It offered a wider view of all relevant information than the older screens, though there was a large backup monitor on the wall.

"The _Walsh_ has three new defensive systems." The ensign began, bringing up a schematic of the ship. "The first layer involves avoiding getting hit in the first place." A close up of what looked like some of the protruding armored pods on the hull zoomed into view. "This is a ECM missile pod. They work in conjunction with the ship's sensors to disrupt enemy sensors and covers the ship in EM absorbing cloud. You can run this system while the ship is either hot or cold. During cold runs, you can mask the entire ship."

"You mean _after_ I power just about every system first and find somewhere inconspicuous to hide?"

The ensign gave an irreverent snort. "That goes without saying. We did our best, but we're not miracle workers. Even we can't make a ship invisible. You can't hide out in the open, but you now have the option of hiding in the shadows. The batarians can bring entire fleet, but they can't hit what they can't lock onto. Within reason of course. They'll still be able to lock on to you if they or you get close enough."

Murray gave another whistle. This is certainly how they'll manage to pull off the operation. Not by fighting harder, but by fighting _smarter_. "I assume the ECM systems won't interfere with our own sensors?"

"Absolutely. We managed to install a newer IFF on your ship. The ECM systems will only interfere with ships that don't have it installed." The ensign changed the image to one of the exterior dual mounts. "The second layer deals with minimization. Should the first layer fail, the second is design to minimize the damage you'll receive. This is the Mk. 2 Ultraviolet GARDIAN laser system. We've replaced the ship's entire system with these bad boys."

Ultraviolet GARDIAN lasers? There were obvious benefits to these over the infrared version; an extended range six times that of the infrared models, for example. The new reactor certainly could provide more than enough power, but what worried him was reliability. While ultraviolet lasers certainly had higher performance specs, they were costlier to maintain.

"Lastly, the final layer of defense deals with absorption." The ensign brought up an image of another armored pod, though this immensely larger. "This is a prototype shipboard Cyclonic Barrier generator. It's the first of its kind. But don't be fooled, a sustained barrage will take it down quickly."

Understandable. No defensive systems were invincible to sustained fire. He shouldn't expect miracles, but by this point he could be forgiven the expectation. "How strong is it?"

"Well I could give you some numbers, but let's keep it simple. Enemy Disruptor Torpedoes, no problem. Swarm of Javelin missiles, not much so long as you soften them up with the GARDIAN lasers. A sustained barrage of Mass Accelerator fire, definitely will cause strain. Under no circumstance can you expect even this to completely protect you, but you do have one last advantage over regular kinetic barriers. With the improved reactors, this barrier will recharge faster."

"And I assume it will be used in conjunction with the angular armor? I guess that is the reason why the ship has had those sheets installed."

"Exactly, that and to reduce the electronic signature of the ship. No one in the fleet can dispute the advance electronics on the _Walsh_. Nonetheless, we reinforced the braces with sheets of titanium." This time, the holographic display showed a cross section of the ship's armor. There were multiple layers of composites. "This armor has layers of tungsten disulfide, carbon nano-tube weaves, and titanium sheathing that absorbs the kinetic energy of a Mass Accelerator."

It occurred to Murray the reason why the _Walsh_ was selected for the mission was simply due to the already advanced nature of the ship, allowing the modifications to be installed fairly easily. With the increased armor, it wasn't an exaggeration to state that the _Walsh_ could take a lot of punishment.

' _Make sense. I doubt the UNAS would like that their most advanced ship be wrecked in the operation.'_ Murray thought as he looked around the bridge, noticing many of its new terminals and workstations.

"And that covers pretty much the combat essentials, though you will be happy to know the ship has had a new AI installed as well." The ensign checked his chronometer. "Unfortunately, you will have to become familiar with it at a later time because I am all out of mine. I am afraid this is where we part ways, Captain."

The two men shook hands before the ensign turned to leave, leaving Murray to admire his improved ship alone. He took a moment to look around once more before sitting down in the Captain's chair, noticing it too had been improved.

' _Rich Corinthian leather, real nice.'_ Murray took time to really admire the unnecessary fit a lot better than the old one and gave him a good view of his crew and holographic display.

' _Check one for captain's privileges.'_ He figured having some wouldn't be too much to ask, especially one commanding one of the most powerful ship in the UNAS fleet. He listened closely to the hum of its machinery and vibrations of its terminals. Each ship had its own unique characteristics and quirks, its own spirit that made it special.

"Well hello sweetheart. How are you feeling today?" Murray felt a little embarrassed talking to his ship out loud, but figured no one would mind.

The air itself seemed to fill with anticipation and he knew exactly why. The _Walsh_ had never really proven itself in combat; its highly advanced nature making sure it was shelved for only the most critical of battles. Now not only was it going to see combat, but it was going to do so with some new teeth. It had the responsibility of being the vanguard for the attack force, carrying some of humanity's greatest heroes – and liked it.

' _You certainly won't disappoint.'_

"Oh, before I forget, you may have already realized this, but the UNAS naval command has officially reclassified the _Clarence E. Walsh_ as a heavy destroyer." The ensign announced, doubling back through the door.

Most people would file that information in the back of their minds, but the captain was a learned man in regards to naval history, which was an expectation if one truly wanted to command a vessel of his or her own.

Destroyers were the greyhounds of the sea when first introduced after the emergence of the self propelled torpedo in the 1860s. In naval terminology, a destroyer was defined to be: a fast, maneuverable, long-endurance warship intended to escort larger vessels in a fleet or battlegroup, defending them against smaller, powerful, short-range attackers. They were originally developed in the late 19th century as a defence against torpedo boats and by the time of the Russo-Japanese War in 1904, these torpedo boat destroyers were large, swift, and powerfully armed torpedo boats designed to destroy other torpedo boats.

By the First World War they were largely known as 'destroyers'. Soon, it was realized that destroyers could take over the role of torpedo boats themselves, so they became fitted with torpedo tubes of their own, as well as guns. At first their role was simply to protect and escort their own battle fleets, but competence extended that role into screening the advance of the fleet, searching hostile coasts, harassing the enemy, to finally attacking the enemy fleet itself.

Before World War II, destroyers were light vessels with little endurance for unattended ocean operations. Given their small size, lack of firepower, and position as the forward vanguard, casualties among the destroyers were among the highest. After the war, the advent of guided missiles allowed destroyers to take on surface combat roles previously filled by battleships and cruisers. This resulted in larger and more powerful guided missiles destroyers capable of independent operation. When the Alliance took to the stars, they seized upon the lessons crafted in the battles of the ocean, relegating the destroyer to the same roles but this time operating them in packs.

In this case, the comparsion was rather apt as the _Clarence E. Walsh_ would be operating alone behind enemy lines. If everything went as planned, victory would be achieved without the _Walsh_ having to fire a single shot.

"Good thing we have plenty of lessons to learn from the past."

"I see you are familiar with their history. I should also let you know given the mass amount of the space the improvements have taken up and the rest being occupied by crew, the UNAS naval command has authorized the _UNASS Indepence_ and _Freedom_ stealth frigates to accompany you on your mission. They'll take responsibility of any freed slaves as well as provide mediacal assistance."

 _'Ah, wolf pack tactics.'_ Murray altered his thinking slightly. Additional forces would relieve some of the stress, but not the anxiety.

* * *

 **Torfan**

 **Criminal Moon Base**

 **Edge of Attican Traverse**

One could reasonably argue that Torfan was the safest, quietest, and therefore most lucrative base to conduct illicit business. It had long since been used as a safe haven for criminals, terrorists, and pirates operating in the nearby systems. The only traffic to and from the moon were fellow degenerates, looking to do business on site. It wasn't the best _looking_ area for trade, but it was willing to do business without questions asked. Since it bordered the Terminus Systems, the Council never dared to send a task force to eliminate the stronghold, fearing reprisal. A large fleet would turn the Terminus into a hotbed of violence, while a small one would be vulnerable – rendering Torfan perfectly positioned for the role it had chosen.

If anyone actually dared to attack the moon, the anti-ship Mass Accelerator Cannons would wreak havoc on invading forces. There was a battalion always on the surface, scanning for enemy threats. Should the worse occur and the ground-based cannons be taken out, the pirates could always hunker down in the deep bunkers to avoid orbital fire. Should an enemy desire to evict the forces from the moon, they will have to venture down into the fortified underground strongholds, lined with barricades, weapon placements, and sentries and root the forces out from within. Minimal pay off, and the promise of massive casualties gave more reasons why the moon had remained relatively undisturbed.

The sense of serenity, however, helped hide the activity occurring on the moon in more recent history. This was mostly due to being occupied by batarian criminals, but the serenity shifted at the arrival of another species which wasn't local by any means. These unfortunate souls were humans, a newly acquired race brought by the infamous Admiral Ban just two months prior.

Some forty thousand former batarian military soldiers lived and worked within the moon. Their true purpose was to protect the merchandise, while the management sold its exclusive merchandise to those interested. Normally the profits would be split between the Hegemony and the slavers evenly, but after the diplomatic blowback suffered, the Hegemony allowed the slavers to three-fourths of the profits gained, provided they repaired Ban's fleet and transferred some of its best naval officers to fill the losses suffered. While such personnel were a significant loss, the base had little use for fleet officers. The majority of the security force consisted of troopers, excelling in ground combat – Hegemony fleets had an 'understanding' in regard to deep-space security.

Now, the criminals own interest was to line their coffers with the credits earned from the newest transactions. All in all, a very generous offer.

The leader of the entire criminal enterprise was a shrewd, business oriented thirty-something year old batarian named Solem Dal'Serah. Dal'Serah had once been a top intelligence operative for the Hegemony; much of his time had been spent operating outside of batarian space before pursuing more lucrative endeavors. In his role, he ran a large group of agents in the Traverse as well as around the Terminus Systems. It was his power and influence that gave the Hegemony reason to relieve themselves of their problem at his profit. It was also his connections that provided business partners, and access to the black market for the slaves _finally_ available for sale.

Dal'Serah organized the men under him well; former members of the Hegemony military as well as current slavers and pirates, in a fashion much like a legal corporation. A marketing department found clients for the slaves, while a shipping and logistical department transported the slaves to the end buyers, and a material procurement department that handled transactions using valuable minerals, weapons, and soldiers for payment. He also had a robust corporate security office – stuffed with the luxuries expected of his position. While all the men working for him had military training, a single battalion was dedicated to security. These would be the first responders, in case anyone decided to arrive uninvited.

Due to his position of power, Solem Dal'Serah had many enemies, and as such, his organization was always under attack by overconfident pirates thinking they could make an easy raid on the moon. As a result, he and his security were always on guard. Every individual attached to the moon lived on it, turning much of the underground caverns into apartments, ammo depots, mess halls, and anything a virtual fortress needed to function independently.

While Dal'Serah and his men had great success selling slaves and other illegal materials, their highest priced item were the human slaves. They had already sold some humans in small quantities to several groups around the Traverse and Terminus Systems. On today's agenda, however, they would be meeting with two men who had traveled to Torfan from Zak'kon – senior leadership from the colony. Individuals from Zak'kon were usually some of the biggest players in the illicit trade, thanks to their deep pockets and benefactors from the Hegemony government.

Information from Dal'Serah's sales department's preliminary meetings gave hope that today's meetings with these principals from Zak'kon would prove fruitful. The secure nature of the moon meant that all meetings were conducted on-site. Today's meeting was to be held in a private room within the strong-hold. Four of Dal'Serah's security men had gone in early to make sure all accommodations were to stellar standards; after all he would hate to disappoint his guests.

Normally Dal'Serah would arrive slightly late to his sales meetings as if he did not care. It was a subtle way of showing dominance, since majority of his customers were the scum of society accustomed to inconveniences. An hour or two of sitting in a bunker, drinking the local brew was hardly a real annoyance for anyone living in the hostile environment of the Traverse or Terminus. But today's respective buyers were affluent business men, looking for a major transaction, and preliminary meetings with other members of his organization had shown Dal'Serah how serious these batarians were about striking a deal.

For this reason, Dal'Serah would not keep them waiting. He would arrive early, to demonstrate respect. The Zak'kon batarians were in the market for abled bodied slaves capable of doing extraneous work and he had just the right species in mind, quite possibly the most expensive items in the catalogue.

Between himself and his staff, Dal'Serah hoped to sell as many as two thousand human slaves, and had even arranged for that number ready for shipping via a refurbished freighter to the colony in advance of the meeting. At 450,000 credits each, a sale of this magnitude would garner his operation nine hundred million credits, and pave the future for more sales to Zak'kon.

Shortly before mid-day, a small dropship pulled in front of one of the moon's spaceports, landing on a landing pad. Two batarians climbed out of the vehicle before the pilot wandered off to pull security duty. The batarians were watched by no less than a dozen set of eyes from many angles, all belonging to trained killers. The guests were both rather young, but dressed professionally, indicating membership in higher levels of the caste system. Despite having supervising roles, broad shoulders and a lack of fat indicated fit and healthy individuals.

They walked up to the front gates, stepping inside as it opened. Inside the foyer, the two batarians from Zak'kon were met with smiles by four batarians in business suits. Dal'Serah and three of his armed guards then greeted their prospective clients with customary handshakes and gestures of blessings, followed by an exceedingly polite but thorough search for weapons or listening devices. Within moments they were taken into an extravagant room, where tea was poured for Dal'Serah and his guests while the guards spread into the corners of the room.

Dal'Serah sat on a sofa across from the two batarians, who had seated themselves in armchairs. The shorter of the two young batarians said, "We were informed to call you Dam'Solem."

Dal'Serah nodded with a smile, cheerful in anonymity. "That is correct. And I am told you are Cratin. Interesting choice for a name."

Cratin only said, "And this is my superior. You may call him Harom."

Dal'Serah turned to Harom and said, "I look forward to doing business with you, my friend."

The other man nodded, indicating he understood, but did not speak.

"Will you remain silent, friend?"

Harom did not answer, instead his colleague answered for him. "You can verbally communicate with me directly."

Dal'Serah nodded politely, smiling the entire time. "Very well then. How may I help you?"

He was not fazed in the least that one of the men would remain silent for the meeting. Dal'Serah had dealt with men like this for a quarter century, and a necessary part of dealing with terrorists, pirates, and slavers was the odd organizational structures, and their often overly dramatic personalities.

Cratin began explaining a need for many able bodied slaves capable of performing a range of tasks from general labor to more advanced duties. He hoped that they could begin a long business relationship with this organization located here in Torfan.

For his part, Dal'Serah just stared at the silent batarian while Cratin spoke. After a moment's more consideration, Dal'Serah called out to men in the next room. Within seconds two men entered, dressed in business attire, but instead of brief cases they dragged a chain holding a human slave prisoner. It stood at over five feet, but held quite an athletic build.

Dal'Serah said, "I give you one of our most prized possessions ever acquired. A _homo sapiens_ slave or human servant."

Harom appeared to know about the human slaves, but seemed interested in letting Dal'Serah make his sales pitch.

"On average, they stand on five feet and ten inches and weigh about two hundred pounds. They are the newest sentient species of notable size to enter the galactic stage. Humans have a fairly robust physiology. Their internal makeup and reproductive processes are typical of most bipedal mammals, and their size and proportions give the appearance of being strong, fast and agile. In comparison to the Council races, humans are roughly physically on par with turians, but less agile than asari. The biggest difference would be the intelligence disparity between them and the salarians."

The Zak'kon batarians knelt near the slave and scanned his body as if he were mere livestock. After spending a minute inspecting the slave, the two Zak'kon natives sat back down in their chairs and faced Dal'Serah. The latter batarian could see that the mood had lightened perceptibly. These gentlemen were, at the end of the day, mere clients.

"So," he said. "Do you have any questions I can answer?"

The one called Harom said, "I will instead like to purchase a substantial sum of slaves from you."

Dal'Serah smiled, he had caught the fish by the hook. "That is great to hear. How many will you be interested in purchasing?"

"Six thousand, if you have them."

" _Six thousand?_ " Dal'Serah said in disbelief. That was three times the number he had hoped for.

The batarian named Cratin gave a nod. "We will pay five hundred thousand credits for each."

Dal'Serah cocked his head, trying to read the batarian in front of him across the table. Finally, he softly said, "You are serious?"

Harom leaned forward. "Continent that the slaves provided are indeed useful for our operations."

Dal'Serah said, as much to himself as to his customers, "Three billion credits." That was half the cost of an entire Hegemony cruiser. Smiling like a madman, Dal'Serah shook hands with the batarian representatives. "Gentlemen, I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." For a chance at three billion credits, he was willing to move mountains.

* * *

 **A/N:** Here is the next chapter, completed about two weeks since the latest updates. Thank god for the extra time I have in the summer. Also, I have good news, more for me personally, I've just received my Associates in General Arts on June 23rd 2017 and have just now completed my requirements for my Associates in Science, so two degrees in one stroke. In other news, I've just acquired a XI computer labtop work station at nearly three thousand dollars for my future courses at my local university. It will help me with engineering design and drawing. Plus, I get to work on the story on my brand-new laptop.

Also, if you have not done so, feel free to check out one my fellow readers own story: Mass Effect: The Iron Heart of Man by Apollonir. The detail in regards to the story is very similar to that of my partner and I. The only big difference is the timeline is pushed up a little, just in case that gives you some confusion as it did initially for me. Also, Apollonir if you are seeing this I expect a review in compensation for the free publicity.

 **Trivia:**

 **1.** Murray's new chair is a reference to Deadpool, my god I love that movie, where our favorite anti-hero compliments the rich Corinthian leather as his face is pressed against it.

 **2.** The ship of Murray's ship Clarence E. Walsh is a reference to Splinter Cell Chaos Theory where said ship is deployed to the South China sea, I believe, to help with diffusing the tension in the area. Fun fact both ships are considered highly advanced as well.

 **3.** The frigates accompanying Murray is a reference to the newly commissioned littoral combat ships in the U.S navy: the _USS_ _Independence_ and the _USS_ _Freedom_.

 **4.** This is the first time we get to see the navy of a member state of the Alliance and see them about to operate on their own.

 **5.** Solem Dal'Serah is a reference to the future 'leader' of the Blue Suns in canon. Here we get to see his first employment before it goes up in flames.

 **6.** The chapter detailing the upgrades on Murray's ship was heavily inspired by Havoc-legionnaire's Halo Art of War. So be sure to either praise him or go and take a look at his amazing story. If you love this one, chances are you will also quite enjoy this one as well.

 **7.** Dal'Serah's quote "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," is indeed a reference to the famous quote in Casablanca.


	27. Chapter 27 - The Great Journey

2-28-2157 1222 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **London**

 **Earth, Alliance Headquarters**

 **Naval Base**

The marine and naval personnel present in the hallway instinctively made way for the column of the Alliance best soldiers, and a few even saluted them as they walked past. Commander Hower returned their salutes respectfully, though he was still unaccustomed in leading a battalion size marine force. After spending a quarter century leading small strike teams, many would believe it high time a man of Hower's talents be promoted to a higher position. But deep down, he knew where his specialties lay.

All eight hundred marines were present, though the Cabals and Spectres were missing. He'd been told they were currently arranging their own equipment for transportation, which brought a suppressed frown to his face. It was a natural reaction, understanding exactly how little he actually understood the two alien forces; they were still strangers to him. None of the N7 marines were able to get to know them in the short time they've been introduced, though Hower had obtained a general sense of what to expect after reading their personal files, though they only told him the generalities, it was certainly better than nothing. In order to understand who, they were and how they operated he realized he would have to talk to each of them. Or perhaps representatives – as many as he could.

Hower rubbed the back of his neck as he and the other marines were ushered into a massive repurposed hangar. Even within the massive space, he was still shocked to see such an area accommodating all the present marines.

Immediately, the marines took in the contents of the massive room. The first thing they all noticed were the rows of a new battle-suit armor to their left. They were obviously new, completely unscratched and free of battle damage. They appeared to be incredibly thick and bulkier than a regular combat hard-suit, and already Hower could see Stenzke salivating at the prospect of operating one. The second thing making itself noticed were the personnel present: Fleet Admiral Spencer and General Volodin, along with a few engineers that looked eager to be anywhere but in the spotlight.

"I hope you all had a good night rest yesterday, because we have a lot to go over today," Spencer began. "Yesterday you were briefed on the operation on Torfan, today you will be briefed on the equipment you will be using."

Nodding to one of the engineers, Spencer withdrew smartly, clearly granting them the field. The oldest of the engineers took a single step forwards, cautiously approaching the podium as if it were a live snake. After the device failed to snap at his vitals, he took a more active stance, flipping open a sheaf of hard-copy data sheets. Obscure information seemed to give him courage, and the man addressed the gathered soldiers as if hesitance had never existed.

"This is the newly designed T5-V battle-suit. It gives soldiers far greater protection then even the Defender class of armor. It's driven by eezo-assisted mass drivers to prevent velocity loss," a data sheet rippled in his hands. "This allows troopers to both carry heavy weapons onto the battlefield, and assist with the weight to a degree to where it almost unnoticeable. Each of you present will be equipped with these during your mission, but be aware that each set is suited for a particular specialization, whether assault, sentinel, vanguard, infiltrator, engineer, or adept. Feel free to experiment, but make sure to select one that suits your combat preference."

Within seconds, Stenzke lunged at the nearest set of armor carrying an assault loadout and with almost inhuman speed began to don on the armor. The rest soon followed, equipping their armors without haste.

"I'm sure you will all want to know what improvements we've made outside of the obvious," General Volodin gestured to an empty armor piece, poised on the stage. "The engineers will all brief you on the T5-V technical capabilities."

With that, Volodin stepped back and handed the floor to the engineers once more. The same grim-faced elder stepped forwards; not bothering to check his notes.

"The T5-V battle-suit has thousands of minor improvements and the full list will be sent to your omni-tools, but today we will be covering the major ones. The first is a He-3 fusion micro-reactor that gives the suit a threefold power increase over other armors, improving shields and life-support systems. With the increased power generation, we've managed to add in an auto-firing shoulder cannon. The concept is very similar to the shoulder rockets found on the armor of the NCRA's Serpents. The second is the suit's built in emergency shielding harmonics, which are optimized to produce a strong reliable kinetic barrier that can be active for hours. Should the primary shield collapse for whatever reason, and if you timed it perfectly, this short-term barrier can be made that it seamlessly retracts when the primary barrier regenerates. The primary shields use nanocrystals to emit the barrier, and equip an ablative VI to improve its efficiency. Lastly, the battle-suit features a prototype field generator which increases the chance of the shields fully restoring when depleted."

At the elder engineer's nod, one of the engineers walked over the empty armor, pressing a few commands. Upon doing so, a translucent shield covered the armor. "Part of the T5-V's internal systems is the ability to temporarily boost life-support systems and shields should you ever get in a tight situation. This brings us to our third major improvement. The T5-V incorporates a micro scanner to dispense medi-gel to severe wounds, and incorporates a trauma module using a VI entirely dedicated to medical needs. However, you will realize each of the armor variants supports your class or combat preference."

The engineer pressed another set of commands, causing the air to crack with small electric arcs as an orange translucent distortion covered the entirety of the armor's forearm and parts of the upper and lower body. The N7 marines instantly recognized the shape the shield took, that of medieval shields, and made the same conclusion. "For those of you that are Sentinels, a special feature the armor grants is the ability to generate a medium-sized omni-shield to cover yourself and any teammates behind you. To oversimplify, this is what we call an assault shield. I have no doubt this will be of assistance to you all in the close quarter confines on Torfan."

Hower quickly grasped the benefits of the ability. While its origins are found in an age where armies clashed with iron swords and shields, a light-weight, highly-resistant omni-shield would be a great aid in the CQB firefights. The shield would give them an edge when stealth was no longer a concern. Useless in firefights in wide open areas, but battles such as these would be rare in the underground bunkers of Torfan.

"And for Infiltrators, we also came up with something special," the engineer continued, placing some strange looking blanket over the battle-suit. After pressing another set of commands, the armor continued becoming translucent until it disappeared entirely from sight. Instinctively, the marines activated their thermographic sights, the normal counter for stealth fields. What they got, however, was the thermal outline of the engineers, the admiral, and the general. The armor itself was completely missing. Momentarily surprised, Hower quickly returned to normal vision and waited for the engineers to continue.

"Thanks to our allies in the UNAS, we've managed to acquire some advanced stealth cloaks to assist in infiltration. As you just witnessed, we've managed to hide the thermal emissions given off by the stealth system. However, a good solid punch or the impact of a mass accelerator round will cause the field to collapse so don't think you'll remain invisible in firefights. Though be warned, given the sensitive nature of these cloaks, the UNAS will want them back after the mission is completed. Think of this as a temporary loan."

"Moving on to the Engineer class of armor, you will notice how a portable turret is installed to the backplate. All of you here are familiar how one works so we'll skip that portion for now. Of particular note is a pylon-based mini-facturing furnace that can supply ammo and grenades, should the need arise. It also has a built-in shield generator that boosts the maximum shields of nearby allies. Hydra modules installed in the pylon with a multicore amplifier and custom heuristics will increase tech power duration and damage. Finally, this class of armor is capable of launching a homing grenade. Finally, this class of armor is capable of launching a homing grenade." A vicious grin covered the wrinkled face for a moment. "Big boom, and no hiding. Just like mom said."

"As for the biotically gifted marines among you, we come to the Adept and Vanguard class of armor systems which feature biotic amps that boost most currently used implant models already installed as well as allow the use of experimental biotic techniques, such as phase disruptor, biotic charge, dark channel, and annihilation field. It comes equipped with a smart amplifier to boost biotic cooldowns, a hyper-amp to improve the damage, and a neural mask to increase the biotic duration."

"Now there is one last armor variant that is within our possession. The T5-V command and control variant. It features a powerful electronic warfare suits that rivals any of its larger companions in the entire Systems Alliance. There is a crystalline weave layer underneath that can house a starship grade AI. Due to constraints on the availability of AIs and the number pertained for the operation, these class of armor will only be restricted to commissioned officers."

It made perfect sense to Hower. Instead of having to protect a team of hackers or computer engineers, they now had multiple AIs being carried literally within their armor. With the electronic warfare suit, the potential liability becomes a potential asset. They could completely compromise the enemy's communications while securing and streamlining their own. It was genius, although they'd first needed to locate a batarian console to download the communication frequencies.

"Tch. So long as I can ride this baby into battle, I don't give a damn about what the officers have." Stenzke commented. Hower was mildly amused at how quickly the sergeant became infatuated with an inanimate object. He figured many others thought the same, but similarly refrain from pointing it out for personal health reasons.

Admiral Spencer stepped in once more. "In all serious marines, take a few minutes to familiarize yourselves with the new armor settings and control. Afterwards, we have some brand-new weapons to demonstrate." The engineers collectively gave him a dirty look, betraying their reluctance, but stood back.

Almost immediately, the marines began experimenting with the settings of their armor and setting their own preferences. Hower himself noticed how his movements within the suite seemed lighter and faster. He played with other settings before deciding which ones he wanted and settled for that. Even with the AI pack, the eezo assisted hydraulics prevented him from feeling the additional weight.

Seeing his marines finally settled, Spencer directed them to the firing range. It was a rather standard affair, with targets propped up at the far end, but what caught the marine's attention were the nigh endless racks of weaponry. Some were familiar, though with advanced instrumentation.

"And now we get to the fun part," Volodin began. "The weapons before you are the newest generation of SA small arms. We plan on having them replace our current armories within the next few years and you marines will have the privilege of using them first."

The general walked over to the weapon stand and picked up a rifle from the racks. It resembled the trusted M-96 Mattock somewhat, but there were noticeable differences. The carry handle had been entirely replaced by a default marksmen scope. There was a forward ejection heat sink port instead of side ejection and from the increased size of the receiver, it seemed the weapon was using extended heat sinks. Hower also noted how there was a forward grip attached underneath the barrel.

"This here is my own personal design: the M-96A2 Mattock, an improved variant. It fires an increased 780 rpm with each heat sink allowing 30 shots to be fired before exhausting. It also includes a stability damper for improved accuracy, a kinetic coil to increase projectile acceleration, and a hyper rail in the barrel for better performance against armored targets."

Volodin moved to the shooting alley and raised a target at 300 meters. He aimed the rifle, bringing the stock to his shoulder, and fired. To the marines' surprise, the general laid down a sustained burst and burned through the entire heat sink in fifteen seconds. Professional soldiers all, they also noticed the majority of rounds struck the target.

That was definitely impressive. The M-96 Mattock was a powerful rifle, even decades after its introduction, but it could kick like an aggravated mule. Most civilians couldn't handle it effectively at mid-range, being neither properly trained nor physically fit enough to control the recoil. Even trained marines, who had minor augmentations, still had trouble holding the rifle steady. The N7 marines could make full use of the Mattock at mid-range for a brief moment, but even they had to limit themselves to ten burst shots.

"As you can see the weapon has been improved all around and I have no doubt that marine marksmen will make effective use of this weapon, even in the tight confines you will be fighting on Torfan."

The general then picked up what looked like two under barrel attachments. "The weapon is also compatible with various attachments which include, but not limited to an external shotgun barrel or a 50mm Valkyrie grenade launcher."

The general placed the rifle and the attachments back on the racks and picked up two recognizable submachine guns, the M-12 Locust and the N7 Hurricane.

"I am sure all of you are familiar with both of these weapons," The general began. "The upgrades to these two submachine guns differ with some similarities. For example, the M-12 and N7 are both made from superior lightweight alloys to make the weapons less obtrusive and easier to handle while having increased magazine capacity. However, the difference between these two is the N7 Hurricane has a superior recoil system by having an VI installed to reduce weapon kick while also having a high-velocity barrel for better penetration. The Locust on the other hand focuses on accuracy by having a 2x optical scope and a high caliber barrel."

Volodin racked the two submachine guns and picked up a large weapon with a face shield. "For those of you to enjoy packing a little more firepower, the N7 Typhoon Mk. 2 aims to solve the notorious recoil by having a Khuklev stability damper to distribute recoil and reduce kickback. We have a magazine upgrade, and a piercing modification, so not only does it have better accuracy for suppressive fire, but it also has capacitors to make sure each round delivers incredible pain."

"Next, we go to our sniper rifles," Volodin picked up a Black Widow variant. "This gorgeous beauty packs a combat scanner and scram pulsar while having its ammo block consist of tungsten sabot jacket rounds for better performance against armor. The same goes for the N7 Valiant sniper rifle." Placing the Black Widow back, the general picked up a M-97 Viper. "This rifle features the same upgrades as the previous ones with the added modification of being integrally suppressed, allowing for silent kills."

"Moving on we go to the weapons I feel will be used quite extensively, combat shotguns. Time is running short so I shall give you a brief rundown. The Striker assault shotgun, M-22 Eviscerator, N7 Piranha, and M-23 Katana all shave off serrated metal edges for better armor-piercing capabilities and range. They also feature a micro-phasic pulse for better damage against shields and biotic barriers, a thermal sink that doubles the rounds from the stock model, and a synchronized pulsar for sixty percent increased damage."

The general then moved everyone's attention to the heavy pistols, smirking as he did so. "As you can see the M-3 Predator, M-5 Phalanx, and N7 Eagle all feature a piercing mod, a magazine upgrade, high caliber heavy barrel, sabot jacketing rounds, smart rounds, and titan pulsar. Good stuff. Bag me some squints with those."

"Finally moving on to our assault rifles we have our newest addition to the Systems Alliance small arms arsenal, the M-8 Avenger." The general picked up an assault rifle that looked much like the M-7 Lancer, but with a default scope. "This baby is much more reliable than the Lancer, has tighter spread, and better penetration with the VI software upgrade, a much more expensive ammo block that uses tungsten jackets, a kinetic pulsar, and a high-velocity hyper-kinetic coil. Of course, with all the add-ons, it's much heavier than the Lancer, but has better performance results. I won't quibble; you can pack the Lancer on this mission or you can instead decide to take this improved rifle. Be warned, that these upgrades were created for the sole-purpose in keeping you alive. You decide at your own risk which equipment to take; what you know, or what you think you can learn between now and the mission."

"Before you all leave, I believe now is the time to demonstrate our ace for this mission," Spencer began, opening up his omni-tool. "Bring him out." At the admiral's command, a batarian, chained and under heavy guard, awkwardly walked into the room.

Hower immediately noticed how everyone went rigid. In his corner of his eye, he could see Stenzke struggling to hold her ire, her hand moving to her heavy pistol before a hand from Frost calmed her down. He was relieved for that, momentarily anxious that the staff sergeant would harm the operation.

"This is General Turik' Han, commanding officer of what was once the 23rd Infantry, 5th Order on Shanxi. He was captured by JSF operatives and has agreed to assist us in this operation. His role is critical so I want all of you to restrain yourselves. I can understand your reluctance to work with and trust a batarian of all people, but he will pilot the dropship and allow the initial strike team to land on Torfan undetected." Spencer stated with cold resolve, looking into each marine before turning to Han.

"Do you have anything to say?"

Han grunted. "I assure you all that while I dislike your kind immensely, I truly hate the slavers that are responsible for my capture. As of now our interest is aligned, so I have no reason to sabotage your raid so long as you kill the refuse responsible for the deaths of my men."

Hower felt shocked, a reaction he suspected most – if not all – the other marines had. Being forced to work with a batarian, one partly responsible for the raid on Shanxi no less, left him a bit angered. But as a professional, Hower calmed down; the mission came first above any personal grudges.

' _This just keeps getting better and better.'_ He cynically thought.

* * *

 **London**

 **Earth, Alliance Headquarters**

 **Naval Base**

The hangar bay was filled with busy mechanics and technicians maintaining the ship's compliment of Falcons, Spirits, Stingers, and a flight of Razorbacks. Hower and Frost had to pause their stride several times to let the trolleys and moving cargo pass by. One of the massive deck elevators lifted a quartet of GZ 550s fitted with a 12.7mm machine guns and 30mm grenade launchers. Hower wondered what use the light vehicles would be in the underground bunkers on Torfan. After considering the problem for a moment, he left the vehicles aside, returning to his mission to meet with the Spectres.

"What do you think about the operation?" Hower asked his companion as they walked through the buzz of activity.

"It's going to be tough, possibly the hardest one we've had yet, but the new upgrades will certainly give us a fighting chance." Frost said, giving his assessment.

"And what do you think about the batarian coming with us?"

Frost gave an audible sigh before replying, choosing his words carefully. "He is a … liability. We have no real leverage over him, and he can easily give us away, dooming the entire operation before it even begins. I honestly don't like it, but at the same time I don't see any other way we can land undetected. The batarians won't be expecting one of their own to betray them so we got that going for us at least."

"Unfortunately, I believe you are right. What about Stenzke? Do you think she will cooperate?"

"I think she is more likely to kill the batarian with her own bare hands. Out of everyone here, she is poses the greatest risk." Frost stated bluntly.

"You have your gear already prepped?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

"Good to see you are ahead of things. So what do you think about the Spectres? What is your assessment?"

"Sir?" Frost responded. "I thought the brass already forwarded their dossiers to your omni-tool."

"They did, but they only give me the general details. I want to know their skills, talents, motivations, etc. For _that_ I need to dig deep and the best way to do that is to go straight to the source."

"Well good luck with that." Frost muttered.

Hower needed only a split-second to realize where the other man's thoughts were occupied. "Well do me a favor and make sure Stenzke stays under control."

"I will try my best, but I can't make any promises."

With that both men separated, each going their own separate way. Hower continued on his own way, passing several maintenance crew loading the Hahne-Kedar manufactured bipedal humanoid LOKI security mechs, numbering at over nine thousand in number, onto transport freighters accompanying them on the mission.

Confidence on the mission's success appeared to be swelling, considering the additional soldiers, even if synthetic. His own composure increased further when he saw thousands more of YMIR battle mechs. Unlike a LOKI mech, which could be considered expendable, the YMIR mech was a massive killing machine designed for anti-infantry purposes, and sometimes light anti-vehicle roles with the proper loadout. Heavily armored and shielded, these mechs would certainly contribute heavily to the kill count. While slow in movement, it more than compensated by both soaking up, and dealing out massive quantities of damage.

It was mid-day by the time Hower reached the Spectre's temporary quarters. He knocked on the door, waiting a few seconds before an asari, the team's sharpshooter, opened the door, donned in combat under-suit. Unlike the garment beneath his own armor, it clung to her impressive figure, which the commander silently admired. The asari's alleged reputation for beauty and elegance appeared well earned, though Hower put the thought aside for professional reasons. Of more interest to Hower, was the unidentified sniper rifle cradled in her arms.

"Ah, Commander. What can I do for you?" She questioned.

Hower squinted slightly, refocusing in the dimmer lighting. "Ma'am. I was hoping to talk with you and your teammates, to get to know you all a little better. I thought it would be wise for us to be able to trust each other." He rethought his statement, and summarized it. "I'm trying to get to know the members of the Spectre team."

"Well what would you like to know?" Vasri asked, stepping inside the quarters, inviting Hower in with a gesture.

Once inside, Hower noticed how the room was rather empty, likely due to prep work by the other team members.

' _The other members are probably still readying their own equipment.'_ He thought.

"So, I've been told that you're the sniper of the team?"

"I wouldn't classify myself as a sniper, at least not a traditional one. A sniper's role as you know is to serve as the eyes and ears of the squad conducting reconnaissance and gathering intelligence while rarely firing a shot. I am more in line with an expert marksman." Vasir responded. "Have you ever heard of the Serrice Guard being trapped along Blood Pack mercenaries on a colony?"

"Yes, I recall." Hower replied. "That engagement was pretty well publicized. It was a serious of engagements over a period of days where asari commandos used traps and other guerilla tactics to defeat a superior foe."

"And I was one of those Serrice Guards trapped alongside my sisters for those nine days. On the third day, I became separated from the rest of my team after a pair of commandoes were wounded by a Krogan battle-master. In an effort to buy time for my team to conduct a retreat, I moved towards a large forest with the perfect cover and set up proximity around me. The mercenaries found themselves funneled into a narrow passable corridor that made them easy targets. Each time they came, I feel back, picking them off as I went. As you can imagine they were incredibly furious with me. Once our wounded were secured, the rest of my team regrouped with me and held out for the remaining five days."

"Ah and I presume that sniper rifle in your hands assisted you with that?"

Vasir looked at her cradled rifle and gave a nod. "Correct. Despite its power and appearance, it's actually a semi-automatic rifle unlike most weapons of its class."

The sharp smell of something unfamiliar caught the Commander's attention. He sniffed the air, trying to find its source. "Do you smell something?"

The scent was musky, yet pleasant, carrying a hint of woodlands cooling off from the hot day under moonlight. Turning his head, he found the source: a crate his omni-tool marked as being something called 'Serrice Brandy'. The crate seemed filled with bottles, many seemingly empty.

Noticing the Commander's gaze, Vasir offered a glass of the drink. "Would you care to have some? We have more than enough to spare."

"No thank you, it's alright." Hower took a half-step away, emphasizing the denial. Alien alcohol on a human body, just before a fight, could be dangerous for everyone involved.

Grabbing a filled bottle from the crate, Vasir poured herself a shot. She gulped it down surprisingly fast. "This stuff really calms the nerves. So, what else would you like to talk about?'

Hower spent the next hour conversing with the biotic Spectre about her past missions, biotic abilities, and thoughts on the mission, gently querying her for the location of her teammates at the same time. Dozz, the salarian Spectre and team's demolition expert, was apparently in the armory readying his gear while Maerun and Saren were at the shooting gallery checking their weapons before the mission.

Seeing as the armory was located closer, Hower decided to find the salarian first. The moment he walked in, he soon began to regret it.

"Oy, watch your step!" an alien, fast-speaking voice warned.

Hower took a moment to take in the warning, wondering why he would need to … before soon realizing why. Looking around the room, he counted a total of at least two hundred kilos worth of explosives, each neatly arranged and almost no two alike. Cain trip mines, proximity mines, armor-piercing arrows, flashbangs, grenades in the cluster/frag/inferno/sticky families He had to shake his head, but the action caught sight of tear gas, white phosphorous, ammonium nitrate, breaching charge, 120mm mortar shells, M-100 Grenade launchers, M-490 Blackstorm Projectors; the list went on.

While the organization did much to prevent any catastrophic accidents, he still found it hard to believe so much ordnance could fit into one room. Vasir had apparently not been jesting when she said Dozz was an explosive enthusiast. In fact, it appeared the salarian had everything and anything that could explode in a conventional manner. In his opinion, there was enough explosives here to take out an entire battalion. Hell, with the ordnance amassed in the armory, it would be enough to cripple a heavy cruiser, provided they were detonated in the right location.

"Sorry, I didn't expect anyone to stop by here for another few hours," Dozz half-apologized. "But now that you are here what can I do for you?"

"You're Dozz, right?" Hower carefully eased himself around a neatly stacked pyramid of what appeared to be Bouncing Betties, highly illegal but potent in the extreme. "You think explosives will help on Torfan? It's caves, you know."

Dozz nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. In the close confines on Torfan, artillery support cannot be called upon; unless you want a bloody infantry battle, we will have to bring our own so it will be a bloody infantry battle so we will have to bring our own."

The commander took a few more moments surveying the shop, impressed by the arsenal amassed.

"Are you actually planning on bringing all this onto the battlefield?" ?" Hower asked disbelief evident in his voice. Without waiting for an explanation, he took another few steps into the room. Noticing an unusual grenade that he had never seen before, he gave it a closer examination. "What is this?"

Dozz grinned a wide, inhuman smile. "Ah that! That's a specialty I personally came up with. It's a oneirogenic general anesthetic that will non-lethally incapacitate individuals standing in the release zone. I plan on setting hundreds on the bases ventilation systems to minimize the number of batarians able to respond when things get loud. Keeps things cleaner that way."

Hower had to praise the Spectre. Releasing these types of grenades into the ventilation systems will certainly effect the enemy's ability to respond to a general alarm, making things far easier for them in the long run. Yet, Hower could see a certain type of madness in the dark green pupils. The predatory smile didn't help either, something he didn't think possible for a salarian considering their main strength was intellect not physical prowess. Taking that into consideration Hower increased his estimate of the alien's danger upwards a few notches.

"I must admit I am certainly impressed with this. How much do you have?" He reluctantly set down the grenade.

Dozz's smile soon turned to a frown, almost faster than the eye could see. "Enough to debilitate entire companies, but not enough to incapacitate the entire defense force located on Torfan, which is why I am stocking up on other explosives to ensure success. Be aware this gas will only affect enemies not equipped with helmets or other types of other breathing filters. Now if you truly want to be _impressed_ , take a look at this!" He enthusiastically pulled out a strange cylindrical object, almost pushing it into Hower's face.

"What is this?" Hower eased backward; not doing anything so insane as draw his knife, but felt it's comforting weight nonetheless.

"This is what I call a sticky shocker, a launcher-compatible high-voltage discharge device coated in an adhesive resin to incapacitate targets. So, once it sticks to you, there is no hope of escaping the ensuring shock Dozz began to laugh like a maniac. "Ah but perhaps someone of your more refined tastes might be better impressed with this!" The salarian's arm twisted, picking up a contraption from a nearby table and handing it to Hower too fast to be denied. It was a tubular device with a 150mm mortar shell at the front. Looking at the back, he noticed the tube was packed with a propellant, along with a sight and electrical trigger.

"What exactly is this?"

"A homemade 150mm recoilless launcher with a 30-kilogram payload and half a kilometer range."

Before Hower could protest at how suicidal something like this was, Dozz picked up another explosive device, a stick grenade of some sort. It appeared to weigh a good five kilos, though while the top charge seemed to weigh as much as one would expect, the handle threw him off for a moment. It was made of ferric tungsten, something considered unnecessary with lighter alternatives readily available. Opening the bottom of the stick, he found out why.

It wasn't just a handle.

"Is the handle a pipe bomb?"

"Of course not." Dozz huffed in indignation. "Your pipe bombs are at best heavy firecrackers, but _this_ …. this has more than 10 times the explosive force!" Dozz answered. He had to pause, emitting another diabolical chuckle. "It's a bomb, attached to another bomb! Oh, but that is not the last of my inventions, I have many more to show you. Please grab a seat!"

' _Fuck my life,'_ Hower thought as he became an unwilling audience to the salarian maniac.

He soon lost track of the number of devices the Spectre had shown him and the time that had long since passed. When he stepped out, he felt the effects of a migraine headache. _'Five hours. Five fucking hours!'_ He exclaimed mentally; the salarian had given him a detailed overview of all of his devices as well as inspiration, history, abilities, tactical purpose, and improvements over other conventional explosives.

He made his way to the firing range, only to find Maerun and Saren leaving it. Hower was thankful he managed to get them in the nick of time.

"Commander, what can we do for you?" Saren asked.

"I just wanted to discuss some finer points of the operation."

"Ah, I already developed a plan that I was interested in bringing up with you."

"And what would that be?" Hower asked, genuinely curious. Already he could feel the salarian-induced migraine dissipating.

"I was planning on bringing my team along with you on the drop shuttle and while you sneak into the bunker and find the location of the prisoners, our best course of action would be to quickly disable their alarm system, insert gas grenades into their ventilation system, and finally hack into their anti-ship cannons. Done right, they'll target their own ships, if they have any in orbit. Then your flotilla can arrive, dispatch any remaining forces on the surface and begin landing the rest of the troops undisturbed."

Hower blinked his eyes in astonishment. While incredibly brief, and lacking detail, the goals certainly held merit. "That is certainly a good idea, though I would like to insert my own thoughts. We'll need timing and communication to pull it off well."

"Such as?"

Soon Hower and Saren, like two battle-born brothers began to discuss some adjustments to the plan Passersby could hear them ranging from the best way of locating the cannon hubs, to optimal patterns for isolating alarm subroutines.

Hower also brought up the subject of any potential vehicles that might be on the surface and what would be the best way to counter them. The Commander spent his last remaining hours discussing the strategies of Saren's Before time forced him to leave for his quarters, to load his gear aboard the _Walsh_. Hower felt, for the first time, that the mission had a chance of successfully being completed.

* * *

 **London**

 **Earth, Alliance Headquarters**

 **Naval Spaceport**

"Status report," Captain Murray ordered.

Commander Otomo spoke first. "Communication systems are green, sir. Monitoring FLEETCOM Earth traffic. No new orders are present."

"Reactor power outage eighty percent complete," Lieutenant Partridge reported. "Oxygen, power, and pressure all green lights, sir." She smiled, but it wasn't like before – an automatic gesture. She seemed genuinely happy.

Lieutenant Aku took her seat and strapped in. She gathered her black hair and tied it into a knot. "Weapon panels are green, sir. Mass Accelerator capacitors at zero charge, secondary weapons are loaded and ready."

"Navigation and sensor systems online, captain," Ensign Palmiera reported, professional calm evident in every feature. "Ready for further orders."

A small hologram of Athena, the ship's AI, flickered on the AI pedestal near navigation. "Engine shakedown running smoothly, captain." She said. "All personnel onboard. You have half-power now. Mass Effect drive cores on-line … we are prepared for departure at your command."

"Very good," Captain Murray said. He surveyed his crew, pleased at how they had sharpened up in preparation for this operation. _'Good,'_ he thought. _'We're going to need everyone at the top of their game now.'_

The crew had been briefed on their mission. Captain Murray had insisted on it. They all knew the stakes and consequences for failure.

"Approaching Earth's system's edge," Palmiera reported. "Charon Relay locked."

This was it, the point of no return. Murray took a few silent moments to listen to the ship's whispers once more. She was ready to take the fight to the batarian. Murray finally gave the order.

Murray took a few silent moments to listen to the ship's whispers once more, the hungry rumble as they approached the point of no return. He nodded, satisfied. She was ready to take the fight to the batarians. Murray finally gave the order.

"Very well, ensign. Take us in."

Gravity amassed before the ship's bow, electric archs attaching to the ship until finally engulfing it entirely. With the roar of her powerful engines, the _Clarence E. Walsh_ charged forward into the void, the hope of many humans resting with her.

* * *

 **A/N:** I just want to give you guys a heads up since classes have started, I will not have the usual time I had during the summer to write this arch so be aware updates will be coming much less frequently due to university classes, however I will try to finish this arch and once that is done I will be taking another haitus for the above-mentioned reason. I will try to write during my free time, however the next arch will probably be published once it is done much like the other archs.

 **A/N 2.0:** V-rcingetorix here, my scholastics are kicking into high gear as well, which regretfully has pulled the project later than either of us wanted. Thank you for reading, and see you at the next chapter!

Also I like to take this time to address a rather interesting review left by a guest: **'sharing command is stupid one army one leader and seriously don't be a protagonist power author please if a reg is made of cadet butchery or heavy loss unexperienced soldier cannnot win battle on their own that impossible why do you think professional army exist? with professional and experienced soldier giving the formation of how to be a soldier don't make you one we all know how to shoot a gun but we are not sharpshooter'**

I would like to insert my points.

1\. Who is sharing command? General Williams, as is stated in the story, is the Supreme Commander of all human forces on Shanxi. Technically the Alliance is, but Williams is their representative so I am not sure what you are referring to. If it is even directed to the ground forces, as it could be directed to Commander Hackett and Commander Dain, however they aren't sharing command at all merely deciding what the next course of action should be, which resolves itself quite nicely since one of them decides to flee aboard a corvette with the other remaining within Shanxi's systems. If it is directed to the ground forces, it is made explicitly clear that humanity is divided into multiple armies: The Alliance marines, The European Federation Enforcers, United North American States JSF, The Russian Spetsnaz, and New Chinese Republic Army. The design of the Systems Alliance in this fic can be best interpreted as NATO on a galactic scale as it is compiled of multiple armies that don't have one unilateral leader, but at best a Council. So, this argument is pretty much invalidated.

2\. I am not sure what protagonist power author means so I can't really address it. If it implies humanity being the victor, I would like to provide the context that their first operation to seize control of an enemy corvette failed badly and the JSF objective to hold the bridge was the result of a slaver pretty much sabotaging Han's efforts and even then, they succeed by mere seconds after the arrival of reinforcements and after taking immense losses. Not sure how this is being a protagonist power author, especially since much later we see batarians continuing to beat human forces will really only the SGB achieving total victory and even then, that's because they are Russian Spetsnaz.

3\. While fielding untrained soldiers is definitely ill-advised that didn't stop the Soviet Union from deploying conscripts against the better trained and armed German army so there is precedent for that for trading bodies in exchange for mission success. If the professional army suffers heavy losses they will conduct a draft of civilians like the U.S did in World War 2, Korea, and Vietnam wars. Also, the JSF didn't win on their own, but as the result of gathering additional soldiers on the way to their objective, with many being killed, and a last-minute save by artillery and gunships.

4\. There are many people who have never seen a gun in real life before let alone fire one. So, it is true that not many of us are sharpshooters since many have never held a gun before. The last part is also really hard to understand.

The reason why I chose to address this review is because of its nature that assumes to bring apparent issues within the fic that are brought upon within the circumstances of the story and the immense obstacles the protagonists must face. Also because of the fact that it was left by a guest review, which leaves me with no way of responding. I do apologize for any of my readers that are forced to read this after completing the chapter and want to see the trivia. I just felt the need to address this hard to comprehend review that didn't really help me improve the fic in anyway unlike **Trife's** , which while rather a simple sentence, had me respond to him and led to a much more in-depth discussion of the operation being underway and lead to me revising the story a bit to accommodate the changes and lead to a much more rewarding story. So, congratulate him people.

I did not do this to single out or attack the reviewer, but rather give me the opportunity to respond kindly and point out some errors. I enjoy having dialogue with my reviewers and encourage them to ask me any questions they may have, though all I ask is if the reviews can be better grammatically stated so that I can understand what their issues with the story. If the reviewer in question sees the review and English is not their first language, then I deeply apologize for binging up the grammatical errors into question.

 **Trivia:**

1\. Here we see the debut of the T5-V battlesuit from Mass Effect 3 multiplayer.

2\. We also get to see cameos of characters from Splinter Cell Chaos Theory: Captain Arthur Partridge, Ensign Anthony Palmiera, and Admiral Toshiro Otomo with different ranks obviously.

3\. For those of you that are long time readers we once get to see the AI armor module make a reintroduction from Yao's chapter.

4\. The stealth blanket is a reference to Ghost Recon Future Soldier Overlord trailer where it was used by 30K to infiltrate and destroy a drone control room or was probably command and control.

5\. We get to see the debut of the M8-Avenger.

6\. For those particularly well versed in Mass Effect lore, you will know that Vasir's backstory of being with a Serrice Guard that was trapped along with Blood Pack mercenaries is taken from canon.

7\. The Serrice Ice Brandy is a reference to Vasir's old team and Chakwas side-mission in Mass Effect 2.

8\. If you squint you can see a reference to Dragon Ball, particularly a famous quote from the series.

9\. Dozz's nonlethal grenades were taken straight off of Splinter Cell Blacklist. Another reference to one of my favorite series.

10\. The title is yet another reference to Halo.


	28. Chapter 28 - In the belly of the beast

3-2-2157 1442 hours (Alliance standard time)

 **HS-3 Stormer Transport Shuttle**

 **Attican Traverse**

 **En route to Torfan**

Even with all the preparation taken and the new equipment issued, Hower felt the familiar sensation of anxiety. Considering the essential role his group was assigned, very few could criticize. Adding to the pressure, unlike previous missions where the N7s enjoyed the support of entire armies, the small strike team traveled on their own.

The entire JSF flotilla had taken an entirely different route from the galactic standard, using their alternate FTL modes to bypass a few Relays, eliding the chaotic transportation nodes filled with observant traders – and informants. A small human flotilla, one composed by the Alliance's own member nations, operating this deep in the Traverse would certainly raise questions. Jump by jump, engaging in such paranoid tactics that the apparently legendary Salarians would take notice, the ships reached their target system. Charts listed it as a mere series of numbers and letters, unimportant to any power that mattered. But to the JSF, anonymity meant safety, and the unnamed system was close enough to Torfan to require a single jump with their secondary FTL engines.

' _Silent. Deadly. Unseen.'_ The motto of their elite.

Hower's attention diverted to the feed of several stealth-spy UCAAV drones the JSF managed to insert undetected into Torfan's system, monitoring what furtive traffic used the system.

"Receiving updates from the drones," Velasquez announced from her position. "Two heavy corvettes and one frigate have departed from the moon. Twelve corvettes, seven frigates, five cruisers, and two battle cruisers remain."

Hower strode to the cockpit, doing his best to look calm. He saw the nervous actions, and who could blame them? Their forces consisted of but a single shuttle, filled with nine soldiers and a lone traitor – pitted against the defenses of a moon that had been constructed and constantly modified centuries before. Part of him couldn't believe his years of experience and leadership had led him to this destination, this one point of his life.

"Everyone prep your gear and get ready. The operation rests on this phase," he said. "ETA for real-space?"

"Ninety seconds max. You may want to seek a zuchen place before we land," their batarian pilot responded. The alien's voice grated on his nerves, harsh and uncaring, like the veterans that had seen too much war.

Hower looked through external viewpoint, and stared into the abyss. The vast system of stars and planets shimmered by as the shuttle propelled itself faster than the speed of light itself. The azure mists of lightspeed collapsed beyond the viewport, allowing planetoids streak into visibility, fixed into place by forces beyond his ken. In the center lay a moon, devoid of visible life, its entire landscape composed of rock and sand. If not for the presence of gritty metal structures in sporadic positions, the moon would have looked almost serene in the calmness of space. Or it would have, if not for the obviously hostile ships orbiting above its atmosphere, restrained fury evident in their every line. It brought a mother bear to his mind, daring anything to strike her cubs.

"Vertugn," Han said. "We're coming in." He sat alone in the shuttle's lone pilot chair, armed giants ready to end his life for a single mistake. The pressure was on everyone for this mission to succeed. He waved Hower forwards, with barely a backward glance.

It was strange, Hower thought, to see the batarian so calm and confident, as if he wasn't selling members of his own race for personal revenge. He looked almost comfortable with the events about to unfold.

"What am I looking at?" He squinted at the moon, eager to capture every visible feature. From so close, the shuttle's systems could make out the specks of anti-ship Mass Accelerator cannons and the profiles of several ships as they maintained formation.

The moon's surface is covered with enough weaponry to deter anything short of a full combat Hierarchy fleet within six hundred kilometers of its gravity field. Lucky for us, they won't be expecting an infiltration." Han gestured at an invisible line, one they'd passed. "With my access codes, we'll be able to land undetected, but they will insist on inspecting the shuttle."

"Assuming," Stenzke added, "The Hegemony hasn't logged them as overdue."

"Or belonging to a general currently listed as missing in action," Han grunted.

"And if they have?" Hower questioned.

"Then," Han answered, showing crooked, sharp teeth, "They target the shuttle, bombard it with everything this hemisphere has, and we're annihilated. Survivors would die in the cold, vacuum of space of course."

"That's just terrific." The commander replied.

"In the event we all fail," Han continued. "You are all acceptable souls to be vaporized with."

Stenzke let out the huff of a half laugh. Hower could sympathize, cynical humor was something that eased tension.

"Bonus for us: our new suits offer protection from space." Bellec chimed in. "We have a chance even then."

"Won't matter if you're vaporized along with the shuttle," Frost countered. "A suit can't take an anti-tank shell, let alone a dreadnought-grade round."

"Are you all like this in these situations?" Saren asked from the back.

Hower turned his head, a smile hidden beneath his helmet. "No, this is unusually optimistic for us."

Looking forwards again, he dug his fingers into cheap fabric lining seat's backing, and resisted the urge to lean. The shuttle veered gently towards the moon, the specks of defenses and ships growing larger. Twin heavy battle cruisers, apparent by the extra armor on their hulls, loomed like monstrous statues over the moon, dwarfing the swarms of cargo shuttles, transports, and defense fighters.

Only during the ground war on Shanxi had Hower seen more batarian activity, though he imagined the presence they held in space would have been much more ominous than the segments he'd fought in various cities.

"Mirë, so far so good." Han glanced up at the battle cruisers before returning his attention to the scanners. "It's usually not this busy, but should be useful. To them, we're just another ship not worth monitoring. Here we go …"

The shuttles thrusters rumbled, deck plating trembling as the course was locked and the vessel accelerated through the vast distance separating itself from the moon's gravity. Han worked the comm with one hand and said without a hitch, "Hegemony transport shuttle ME-312 requesting permission to land."

Hower straightened his back, staring intently at the swarming vessels. Han was steadily proving his worth, though he was careful not to trust the batarian any more than necessary. This was the moment he either remained loyal to the cause or fanatically chose to obliterate everyone aboard for his race.

" _Transport shuttle ME-312, you're not listed on the arrival schedule,"_ the voice on the comm said. The operator sounded vaguely puzzled.

Han had a steady and confident reply ready. "Acknowledged, traffic control. I am here to inspect the moon's defenses and supervise the destruction of any evidence tying Torfan's activity to the Hegemony's 16th fleet on the orders of Admiral Ban himself. Transmitting officer and identification codes."

The consoles hummed softly before going silent as the dispatch finished. Hower flinched as he heard a sound from behind. He glanced over to see Saren, who seemed to sense the mood, pausing just outside the cockpit.

" _Transport shuttle ME-312?"_ The voice on the comm had returned. _"Codes are verified and you are cleared for entry. Proceed to landing pad F-13."_

Hower squeezed his hand in a fist, almost shouting in triumph. He spun and gave a nod to Saren. "Go tell the others."

With a nod, the Spectre disappeared into the gut of the shuttle. The descent through Torfan's thin atmosphere, possibly the result of a giant mass barrier, was so smooth as to be almost unnoticeable. The shuttle hurtled over the specks of rocky terrain and slowed only upon approaching a site set aside dedicated for the sole purpose of landing craft. Even without direction, Hower would have recognized it as such; scorch marks, plus a single extended furrow from a particularly unskilled pilot pinpointed the location with exactitude.

Various consoles, set in place by machines all oriented towards the platform indicated it was also a site for resupply, for both terrestrial and atmospheric forces. Mobile workshops, armories, fuel pumps, and service garages littered the area. Other shuttles and even a squadron of interceptors circled the site, spiraling down or rising from the two dozen landing pads. Hower nodded in approval: the machines, purposed to fuel the enemy war machine deep in slumber, would serve as cover for the Spectre team to advance undetected.

A voice came through the comm, bored but professional. _"ME-312 clear for landing pad F-13. Acknowledge, please."_

"ME-312 proceeding to LP-F13 as instructed." Han replied.

The shuttle banked, dipping below the top of a monolithic fortress, rising from the centermost pile of unmodified stone. The sound of armored boots clanking on metal was heard followed by the appearance of a turian Spectre.

"The main building there," Saren said. "What is it?"

"That's your goal, or at least part of it," Han enlarged the image on a secondary screen. "The base's Citadel command and control tower for this whole facility on the surface. All of the base's data is stored there."

"Can we gain access to the anti-ship cannons from there?" Saren asked.

Han shook his head. "No, just data. The command console for the Mass Accelerators are located in a different area."

Hower was tempted to ask Han to do a second flyby, but decided against it. Confirming what they largely knew wasn't worth drawing suspicion. "Can we gain data over where the captives are being held?"

"If the data is anywhere on this Pillars-Forsaken rock, that's where it'll be."

' _They better be.'_ Hower thought. They'd built their whole operation around finding the location of the human captives. If by some chance the data had been scrubbed, if by any chance Han was wrong and the data had been moved to another location … they had a big problem.

Activating his helmet's built in binoculars, Hower noticed movement atop a tower: the subtle readjustment of a massive single array. "And that dish at the top of the tower? What is it for?"

"That would be the communication's tower," Han answered. "Every channel in and out of this base goes through that dish. Normal transmissions can't penetrate the moon's crust, and a normal dish doesn't have the bandwidth necessary to handle everything on-base at once. I also imagine you can gain access to the moon's defenses near there, if anywhere."

Hower pictured the soldiers in the cabin below, remembering each of their dossiers. It didn't take long for him to stop at the salarian Spectre. He had a vague recollection of the commando taking out numerous stations of similar size. Glancing at Saren, he said, "I won't be able to spare any of my squad; I would suggest your Salarian Spectre take out that dish, and then hack the comms and surface defenses."

"That is why we're here. Don't worry we'll get it done."

"Landing tracks engaged," Han ignored their exchange.

Hower stepped away from the viewport. He didn't expect anyone to spot him, but didn't dare take the chance. "Security?" he asked. "How does it look?"

"The usual," Han responded. "Thus far they have no reason to suspect anything from us, but it's still tight I assure you."

Hower watched the jagged crevices of the terrain, its white surface resembling a desert. For an instant, he caught a glimpse of an armored convoy's boxy outline, large enough to wipe out an infantry company. If the base's defenses were similarly geared towards infantry combatants … the odds were heavily stacked against them.

"Well," Stenzke murmured. "We've faced worse odds."

"No," Hower replied. "We haven't. Not by a long shot."

There was a total of nine soldiers in the main cabin. Nine people waiting to fight and die, half of them looking to Hower for guidance. He'd listened to their chatter during the flight, caught a handful of playful banter between the two groups. They'd swapped war stories, jokes, and barbs, bonding the way soldiers did. All were highly experienced, dedicated soldiers, and yet their numbers didn't even reach the double digits. It was moments like this that Hower lived for, discovering a rich bond that would otherwise remain hidden in any other profession. A bond between strangers resembling that of kin.

Painfully, he realized a part of the heavy responsibility of leadership: no one spoke to Hower, unless he spoke first. He shook away the thought, catching their attention at the same moment. "We've touched down and are waiting for an inspection team to arrive." The soldiers rose, tightened the grips on their weapons, and secured their equipment. Once that was settled, all eyes fell upon him.

 _'Guess I'm giving a speech now,'_ Hower thought, standing before the small team of elite warriors.

He didn't bother to raise his voice above the deck plating rattle. Headsets geared to pick out surveillance overrides a dozen meters away could pick out his voice with no effort. Attitude spoke louder than words; confidence, and honesty. "They say a cornered animal will fight like a demon."

No one heckled him. No one raised questions. Even the non-humans respected the moment.

"They have no idea we're coming; no reason to expect us. When we reach our first objective, we'll take a chance and go on to the next. And the next after that, and the next after that. On and on, until we either win or we die." Hower let the anger he kept stoked for occasions such as this flare up. Faked emotion rarely fooled anyone; his squad deserved the best he could give. Honesty. "Their prisoners – our people – are down there, beneath that sun-blasted surface. You know what we'll do: my team will find our people. The Spectres have our backs. If it has four eyes, kill it. If it isn't with us, it's dead. Shanxi is depending on us. Humanity is depending on us. They will tell our story told to future generations, so make sure it's one worth hearing."

There was no applause, but soldiers, elite soldiers, didn't need theatrics. He could have promised them their lives, could have promised fame and fortune, but none of those things could be guaranteed. There were no certainties in war, only that many would die, and a few would live. Hower hoped that was enough.

Saren stepped forward before anyone's attention could drift. "Dozz and Vasir, you are the main fireteam. I want you to go north, get wide of the shuttle. Hack the defenses, and rain hell on these bastards. Maerun and I will take the communications tower. Make each man feel like a hundred. Get the place ready for the main force."

"And what is my role in this?" Han called, climbing down from the cockpit. He flicked his eyes around them. "We never discussed my part after this point."

"Keep the engine running," Saren said. "Until the main force arrives, you will be our primary method of extraction."

 _'Assuming we're still alive,'_ Hower thought. He would have said it aloud, but even, as a seasoned veteran he knew himself to be, knew enough to not ruin the moment. Besides, everyone probably had the same thought running through their minds.

A fierce grin curled his lip upward. Gathered around him were some of the bravest soldiers he had ever met. Courageous, committed, and battle-hardened. None would dare shy away from either battle or death. Trouble would be met with bullets, or worse.

"All right then," he eased his rifle into an easier carry position. "Stations." It felt ironic to him; the best the Alliance had to offer, the best the Council space government could send, this strange band of brothers made their next move, preparing for their righteous crusade upon the enemy … by immediately hiding in any pockets of space available and disguising any trace of their presence. In silence, they waited for the inspection team to arrive, their hearts pumping – fear of discovery, yet eagerness for the same.

The cargo inspection went as well as Hower could have hoped. Luckily the shuttle was built to carry and supply twelve fully armed passengers, so it was simple enough for nine soldiers to hide, even laden with full combat gear. Frost had the easiest time; he simply stood in place and activated his JSF cloak, concealing him fully. Hower on the other hand, had to stuff himself into a minor pocket in the cockpit, squeezed between Bellec's frame and the main console.

He listened as the boarding ramp descended, heard booted feet against the metal deck, and Han make quick introductions in the main cabin. The murmurs of the inspection team echoed shallowly around his helmet, foreign syllables in his untrained ear. But especially, he listened for the sound of seven men and women crammed into small spaces like refugees, and was delighted when his ears came back empty. All was dead silent, save for Han and the inspection team.

"You would probably like to look at the manifest," Han said, sounding even more confident and composed than before.

"That would certainly be helpful." Another voice, curt and officious, said.

"It's just up here."

Hower wrapped his fingers around his Avenger's grip. Mentally, he calculated the number of steps needed to spring out of the cockpit; one leap if he needed to, probably eliminating the entire inspection team without taking a single round. But the mission required stealth, not action. He heard the creak of a cargo hatch swinging open, followed by a brief, muffled cry before the sounds of multiple impacts vibrated through the deck. Not a single round was fired.

Quickly, he scrambled forward, fumbling his way through the cockpit and into the main cabin to see Dozz swaggering from the cargo compartment. If the faceplate had been any less opaque, Hower would have claimed to see the salarian with a terrifying smile on his face.

Han stood calmly, nodding in silent respect to the professional take down. The inspection crew lying dead without a single drop of blood. "We're off to a good start," he said as the rest of the strike team emerged.

"Speaking of which," Hower said, taking a pair of polymer-based cuffs and wrapping one end to Han's wrist while attaching the other to a nearby pipe. "We wouldn't want you to get lost now would we?"

"Seems your smarter than you look." Was Han's reply, dipped more in slight annoyance than offence.

Ten minutes later, Hower managed to remove his battle-suit and equip a slightly too large batarian combat hard-suit. The black chest plate looked over-sized for him, and the sleeves felt a little too long over the ceramic gloves. The batarian helmet was a tight fit, but the uniform would have to suffice. He almost chuckled when he looked at Bellec, wearing a similar combat suit like it were perfectly tailored just for him. Even the identification tag on his chest was at a regulation angle.

"You look like a perfect batarian," he jabbed. Bellec simply ignored him.

Stenzke was the most reluctant of the group, both desiring to test out her new battle-suit and despising the enemy's garments. Ultimately, she came around after much convincing from the rest of the group. While it was unfortunate that there were only four members in the inspection team, Frost's cloak allowed him to remain invisible. The Spectres stowed away the dead bodies, sharing the newly hacked frequencies via their omni-tools.

"Frost since you're the only one invisible, you'll have to carry our gear until we find a suitable time to change back. Stay close to us, but be silent," Hower said.

"Do you forget who you're talking to?" Frost snarked, struggling as he shouldered the burden. The end result causing Frost to almost resembled a drug mule with all the load attached to his powered armor. Hower didn't relish knowing the extra weight would prevent Frost from his customary combat efficiency, but could do nothing to change the circumstances.

He checked his hijacked Krehlokk Flechette rifle, an ugly looking weapon, and Mauler pistol to make sure heat sinks were already inserted. He didn't want to run the risk of entering a firefight with an empty weapon. Saren made what he took as a ready signal for his Spectre team.

Properly orienting the batarian helmet, Hower looked at the boarding ramp seeming as if it were the gates of heavens. He felt a shadow at his side. Saren, with a touch as light as the wind, at Hower's shoulder. "Good luck to you."

Hower nodded in gratitude before stepping down the steps, soon followed by the rest of his squad. Together the team of marines that had faced down the grim reaper multiple times before, now wearing the garb of the enemy, stepped out onto Torfan. His instincts screamed at him as he left Han alone in the shuttle, but once again, he could do nothing other than take the risk.

Despite having only, the dark expanse of space serving as its atmosphere, Torfan remained bright as a desert. Hower could taste filtered oxygen permeating through his helmet while the suit attempted adjusting its temperature to his; batarians evidently originated on a cold planet, making the interior cooler than necessary. He tried not to look at the shuttles thundering overhead, keeping his chin up and his eyes forward like the now vanished guards had before him. He wasn't sure how well he managed the act and could only hope it did not arouse suspicion. Out of the corner of his projected HUD, he could see Frost trailing behind the 'batarian' inspection crew, keeping up with them despite the extra gear he carried. His footsteps were barely audible.

They marched down off the shuttle pad cramped with consoles, cargo crates, and power stations. From there, they followed a short trail to an aboveground bunker linked to a tram station that what little intelligence they had indicated led straight to the tower. Hower blinked away the light provided by immense structures and felt a sudden distant drowsiness, most likely a result of the helmet catering to a different species.

"Sir!" A guard said, tapping a button and the doors of a car slid open allowing the marines access, as the crew reached the terminal.

' _Stay focused, Mike.'_

"I'd say our odds keep getting better and better," Stenzke murmured.

"Stenzke!" Hower hissed.

"Shut up!" Frost added.

The doors closed, denying anyone else entry. Hower shook his head briskly and shifted his weight as the car hummed into motion.

"What did I say?" Stenzke asked, receiving no answer from.

' _Focus,'_ Hower told himself again, even as he shifted his weight side to side, finding no outlet for his nervous energy and the tension building in his mind. He thought of the human flotilla awaiting for their signal to attack, of what their Spectre comrades were preparing to do on the other side of the battlefield.

"What is it?" Frost asked, his voice low and brisk. He ignored Hower's dismissive handwave, switching to a private channel where no one could overhear. "What is it?"

Hower twisted and peered through the window, the tower growing larger and larger against the dark horizon. "Just – nervous. Of the mission and consequences."

"What about it?" Frost asked.

He tugged awkwardly at one of the glove's fingers. "This mission … it's the first of its kind I have ever taken. I am used to fighting face to face in front of my enemy, not beneath their nose."

"And how is this any different?" Frost was being careful, showing nothing of his thoughts.

"Because," Hower felt irritation rise. "We're wearing the enemy's own clothes and there is a heavy risk of us getting killed by our own side. If we don't win this –" He gestured at the unseen stars. "– people will die in vain. We have to get that data. Save the civvies."

All of his fears rang true, yet none of it was what troubled Hower the most. The greatest fear he held was losing his friends and companions, the only family he had ever known.

"You're going to do fine," Frost muttered awkwardly. It held a compassion Hower rarely heard from the man, but it wasn't the answer he needed.

He would fight to the death to find those human captives. He would trust his team to push him down the course he needed to go. But if the mission went wrong, what then? If he were to lose anyone of them in the chaos …

He would fight to the death to find those human captives. He would trust his team to push him down the course he needed to go. But if the mission went wrong, what then? If he were to lose any of them in the chaos …

His entire career he'd fought; for vengeance, for repentance, and for survival. If he fell to his own instincts, what then? He could risk himself for any of his team, but what if he found himself alone? Who would give him the strength to continue onward? The strength of the wolf is the pack, but what happens to the wolf if he loses his pack?

"We're slowing down," Bellec's voice interrupted his thoughts.

' _Just focus, Mike.'_

The railcar's hum changed in pitch and the dancing shadows relaxed their frenzy. "We'll need a map of the place," Bellec went on. "This place is too big and we're too vulnerable to wander around like girl scouts selling cookies."

Velasquez swiveled her head, but didn't look toward Bellec. "I'm sure there's one lying about."

"You know what you have to do," Hower answered.

The railcar came to a halt before its doors opened. They emerged into the entrance of Torfan's Citadel tower, where the darkness of space that had permeated the outdoors was gone – replaced by rows of illumination strips embedded in dark ceramic walls, and the occasional batarian guard moved at an unhurried pace down the line.

Given the large size of the structure, they were helpless without a map to offer guidance. Hower tugged at his combat hard-suit, becoming even more self-conscious of the ill-fitting uniform.

A security guard strolled past, heading to a discreet hallway cramped with stations and terminals. Hower nodded to Velasquez and they started a leisurely pursuit. He had to resist reaching for his rifle, reminding himself to stay calm. If they'd been detected, an alarm would have rung out. If the others had been detected, the whole base would have been in a frenzy.

They tracked the guard down the long corridor. When the soldier stopped in front of a console, Hower stationed himself against the wall to one side. Stenzke and Bellec took similar positions while Velasquez stalked the guard. With a single motion, Velasquez reached out with her armored hands in a tight chokehold. The guard let out a garbled wail that lasted no more than half a second; then he dropped to his knees as Velasquez stood over him, collecting his access codes before beginning to work on the console.

"Do it fast," Hower urged, maintaining an eye out for anymore guards. He stepped in front of the alcove, still watching down the corridor as if his body alone could block a view of the two soldiers, one of them unconscious. Bellec and Stenzke joined him, the additional bodies creating a barrier around their engineer while glancing down their own end of the corridor

"What is taking her so long?" Stenzke asked.

"High-level data. The whole complex is probably hardened against intrusion," Hower said brusquely. "Getting past their cyber-security would be a challenge."

"What not use your AI to help? I am sure that will speed things up."

Hower shook his head. "Our AI could be singled out as a foreign entity, like bacteria would to a body's immune system. This method may take longer, but it is much safer."

After nearly a minute, he asked. "Velasquez?"

Velasquez lifted her head from the console; it powered down beneath her hands, a single light on the side remaining the only indication it had been tampered with. "The human captives are being held nine hundred meters underground to our northeast, cell blocks A3 – A10 along with other species. From what I can see there are at least eight hundred batarians in our path. We'll probably get killed making it a third of the way there."

Stenzke grunted. "It's going to take a lot more than a large company of batarians to do that."

Bellec pushed the guard's body partially behind the console, stuffing it the rest of the way withoug comment. He gave a thumbs up signal.

"Let's hope everyone else is in position." Hower keyed commands on his comm link, switching to the frequency the Spectres would be using. "Saren, this is Commander Hower, my team has located the captives and are about to move toward the site. How are things on your end?"

" _Everything is just about set. Dozz has deployed gas grenades into the ventilation system good news for you, bad news for your playmates. Charges are set on the comm tower and we've just gained access to their defenses. Get ready to call in the reinforcements. Your signal will be shiny explosions, upwards."_

"Acknowledged," Hower said, ending the transmission. He took a moment to look back up and down the passage. No one shouted an alarm, no pulsating siren betrayed their presence.

"Looks like the plan is going off without a hitch. So far." Hower tried wiping sweat off his brow, succeeding only in slapping the faceplate of the strange helmet. He bit back a curse. "Let's double time it to the next objective and get out of these monkey suits before our friends arrive."

* * *

 **Slaver Base**

 **Attican Traverse**

 **Torfan**

Saren Arterius placed a heavy amount of responsibility in the troops he led, such was the obligation of being a turian. Merit was the key to advancement in the Hierarchy and while Saren wasn't one to be arrogant, he realized the skills he possessed. It was the reason he had been chosen for the Spectres and why it fell upon him to lead some of the Council's greatest soldiers into combat.

In his short time, Saren had come to know each of his soldiers. He knew each of them down to their core, and trusted each with his life. Despite their being of different races, Saren respected their loyalty to the Council above all else, and knew he could rely upon their skills. He trusted his men's fury and fire and knew they would not disappoint. Failure was simply not an option.

The same applied to the human force that they were now cooperating with. The competitive nature buried deep within Saren urged him to not be outshone by relative newcomers, but his rational side prevented it from taking over. In any military, pride was a common thing but it could also become dangerous if not kept in check. So, he would fight alongside a fledgling race to bring about a pivotal moment in history, one born to bring retribution where resurrection was impossible. All turians that had died from batarian terrorist attacks, both civilians and soldiers, would be avenged tenfold.

Crouching behind a shipping container, Saren watched as a guard blocking their path moved away. "Go!" he barked into the microphone. "Now! We're clear!"

Together the Spectres poured out of the landing pad, sliding through its shadows to avoid detection from the guards or shuttles. It mildly surprised Saren how easy it was to move through the ostensibly high-security base, but attributed it as the result of enemy lazy thinking. Just in case, however, he kept his suppressed Phaeston rifle up, continuing to walk in the shadows and leading the way.

They moved from the landing platforms into the jagged terrain of artificially made trenches, avoiding batarian patrols and spacecraft alike. With the severe lack of manpower, no one was left aboard the shuttle, something Saren did not enjoy thinking about. He had no leverage to keep the batarian general honest; all they could do was hope his thirst for vengeance outshone his loyalty to his brethren.

They wound their way deeper into the complex's surface, an artificial breeze doing wonders to cover their tracks. Saren knelt mid-stride, signaling for Dozz to move up. In perfect silence, his talons flickered in the hand signals requesting aerial surveillance.

Dozz complied, activating a drone, ending it to high altitudes. Monitoring the feed from the drone, the salarian Spectre observed the strength and formation of the enemy. His return gestures were easily interpreted: _"Heavy enemy activity, armored convoy en route."_

The turian Spectre flattened his mandibles. Not good, but expected. He repeated the 'danger close, stay low' signal.

Like the seasoned operatives they were, the group advanced closer to their objective, mindful to stray from enemy sights. The Spectres once again drew to a halt near a low hillock of terrain, their leader signaling to cease movement. Moving on his armored torso, Saren moved to the edge of the hill and peered over it. The rest of his team mimicked his actions, curiosity overriding caution.

With the aid of his helmet's zoom function, Saren made out the squat profile of a large structure, and the convoy Dozz had mentioned earlier. The Spectres watched as the batarian vehicles of all kinds, tanks, hover-tanks, trucks, and hundreds of foot soldiers, trundled past, vanishing over the horizon.

"Good thing we at least don't have to fight them," Maerun said, gaining a few nods.

Saren returned his attention to the large structure he had spotted earlier, noticing two squads of slavers standing around it. "Barracks," he murmured.

"And a large one," Vasir added, peering from her scope. "With luck, it'll be the only one in the area."

"More like a camp or outpost," Maerun said, eyeing the assortments of buildings, watch-towers, and warehouses.

From their vantage point, the entire camp was spread before them, much like a puzzle waiting to be solved. The Spectres could see guards ambling about in the compound, patrolling the area oblivious of being watched. They even had a perfect view to count the number of guards up in the towers.

It was from here that the team began discerning the general logic of the place, noting the relationships among the various buildings and the layout of the guard's paths. With these key nuggets of information, the Spectres began formulating a plan to deal with the area before moving on.

Slowly moving away from the edge, Saren sketched a map of the compound in the sand, caching notations through the VI in his helmet. His proficiency with firearms as well as assistance from his helmet's VI, allowed him to accurately triangulate the distances between all the camp's major features. Saren took copious notes on every conceivable feature – distances, elevations, building composition – everything. With all these details noted, Saren felt confident that he had everything he needed to tackle the obstacle before him, and sent the outline sketched in his VI to the others.

He signaled to Dozz; the salarian Spectre complied by handing out large explosives to each member. "This is as far as we go together," Saren said. "Fan out. Place your packages in the most opportune location. For now, there is no resupplying so pick your targets carefully. Dozz, you and Vasir move to the comm tower. Maerun and I will proceed to the cannon batteries."

"You sure you two can hack into the system's defenses?" Vasir asked. "Turian's aren't known for their hacking abilities."

"True, but asari aren't known for their resilience in frontal combat either," Saren retorted, smiling under his helmet. "We want chaos, and if the comm tower is disabled, their reserves won't detect anything unusual. As for the batteries, hacking may not be the Hierarchy's specialty, but you forget we are Spectres," He scanned the group and nodded sharply. "Once the charges are set, keep moving to the next location and don't stop for anything. I'll call the timing. Now go!"

The Spectres scattered into two groups, Dozz and Vasir going one way and the turian Spectres moving in another. Normal elites would have deemed the situation high risk – Spectres considered it 'hunting'.

Among the troopers who roamed the dirt paths, landing pads, and bunkers were many dressed in specialized armor for surface duty. Their armor was evidently light-weight and flexible, appropriate for rapid mobility. _'Vulnerable'_ , Saren thought _'to hard swift strikes that broke legs and necks'_.

Maerun managed to down the first two targets of the day, sweeping them off their feet before they could complete their patrol around a landing pad and catch a glimpse of Saren planting one of his explosive charges. Saren himself claimed another soldier not soon after, bursting from behind cover to wrap his talons around a neck encased in a black bodysuit, digging his sharp claws beneath the helmet's rim while pulling the unfortunate individual back into cover. He continued denying the enemy air until the helmet tumbled off, allowing Saren to slam the trooper's face against a rock. The slaver did not move again.

Likewise, the other pair of Spectres hunted in sync, Vasir always prowling near Dozz and vice-versa. The asari Spectre did not limit her targets to those endangering imminent discovery, but kept Dozz under observation nonetheless. Where stealth would fail Dozz, she would not. Her hands and arms quickly grew sore. Vasir was strong, but she was no krogan, and didn't have the luxury of using her weapons. She swallowed a thirst creeping from her body as Dozz planted a generous number of explosives on the enemy's barracks before moving away.

The two groups of Spectres soon retreated, the enemy none the wiser of their presence. With haste, the Spectres regrouped but shared no words, advancing until they came closer to their objective than before. The group split once again, Dozz and Vasir moving to the comm tower while Saren and Maerun stalked towards the moon's defense command console.

As the turian Spectres crept ever closer to the command console, Saren's awareness of potential detection deepended. Both he and Maerun quickly dispatched the guards standing near the console. Saren quickly went to work while Maerun kept an eye out for any enemy soldier.

" _Saren, its DozzI've located the vents, and am releasing gas grenades. Don't know how many will be affected, but it should swing the odds in our favor a bit. Charges are already set on the comm tower. Waiting on your order."_

"Copy, hold detonation until we hacked into the base's defense batteries."

" _Acknowledged."_

Relieved, Saren continued hacking into the console. His digits danced across the keys, careful not to trigger an alarm; Hegemony security, in comparison to the standard systems he knew, relied on paranoia-fueled identity checks, easily spoofed if the right background programs were known. Immense satisfaction bubbled to the surface as the display confirmed authority transfer to his console.

" _Saren, this is Commander Hower, my team has located the captives and are about to move toward the site. How are things on your end?"_

"Everything is just about set. Dozz has deployed gas grenades into the ventilation system good news for you, bad news for your playmates. Charges are set on the comm tower and we've just gained access to their defenses. Get ready to call in the reinforcements. Your signal will be shiny explosions, upwards."

" _Acknowledged,"_ Hower replied before the transmission was cut.

Saren altered the settings on the command batteries, setting a delay-timer to lock on the enemy fleet above, then preset all defenses getting ready to fire. An icon was displayed upon the console, requesting confirmation on the orders to fire. With a slight smirk, Saren pressed the icon inserting the command.

"Dozz, light it up!" Saren ordered. There was a moment of tranquil, empty silence, the slow churning of machinery and Mass Accelerator canons rotating before charging their barrels. Saren inhaled a deep breath, relieved their phase of the operation had been completed and enjoying the momentarily quiet before all hell broke loose.

* * *

 **HS-3 Stormer Shuttle**

 **Attican Traverse**

 **En route to Torfan**

"Sir, we are entering Torfan's barrier gate," the pilot announced from the cockpit.

Solem Dal'Serah nodded in approval. The batarian in question was quite satisfied, earning just a hair under three billion credits in a single transaction, plus another hundred fifty million credits for a meager group of five hundred humans tended to do that. Intermediaries with secret benefactors were some of the most dangerous customers … and frequently the best … but good for business, every time. He'd suspected perhaps it was the Shadow Broker, it was well known he conducted business in such a fashion, but at the end of the day it didn't matter, so long as he was paid. Nothing could perturb him from his good mood. He stood on a metaphorical cliff of greatness, new wealth opening practically smashing open previously locked avenues of business, and best of all: this was merely the start.

With the Zak'kon batarians greatly pleased, news of Dal'Serah's merchandise would spread like wildfire. Already he'd received calls from government officials in Adek, requesting a large shipment of labor slaves. Considering the colony's pathogen-riddled ecosystem – coincidentally severely unfriendly to batarian physiology – it was expected they would desire a work force that could work under the colony's natural conditions.

This was where someone of Dal'Serah's ilk truly shone; as a matter of course, he stocked various species of slaves capable of existing in such an environment with ease. Given the nature of the situation, he believed the best solution were asari slaves; expensive at a million credits each, but profitable due to their large lifespans. Many were merely in their maiden stage, easily captured wandering through the galaxy in search of adventure or glory. To make up for their less than robust biology, Dal'Serah would be prepared to also sell off the majority of his krogan slaves as they had been a heavy burden to maintain and restrain. A personal addition to the order would consist of another five thousand human slaves that would certainly fetch a nice price. While this would drain nearly half of his remaining human captives, more raids upon lightly-defended human colonies could be easily financed. Or he could simply breed the species with those he already had; far slower, but a much more profitable angle in the long run.

Nevertheless, Dal'Serah was, in every way that mattered, the most influential and decorated batarian in the Traverse and would soon be powerful enough to claim the Terminus for himself. What warlords did not join him, he would crush and those that did would find immeasurable wealth. Under himself, of course.

"Beginning final descent now," the pilot called. With almost near-perfect accuracy, the shuttle touched down on the landing pad reserved solely for its singular passenger.

 _'Finally, two decades of labor bear fruit, and it is certainly an exquisite taste,'_ Dal'Serah thought, climbing out of his seat. He disembarked with his escort of batarian external forces, waved a brusque acknowledgement at the trooper who'd come to guide him off the executive landing pad.

Dal'Serah quickly overtook his guide as he disembarked the lift and made for the base's Citadel command center. General Vener, the commanding officer of the garrison, and his soldiers stood at attention as Dal'Serah entered.

"Sir!" Vener declared. "Glad to have you amongst us again. How did the transaction go?"

A wide smile appeared upon Dal'Serah's face as he embraced the general. "My friend we are three billion credits richer and this is just the beginning. We already have an interested party from Adek, possibly five thousand workers!"

"That is good news, sir." Vener congratulated.

"Indeed, it is. Have your men make the appropriate preparations. I want the order completed by the end of today if possible."

"I'll put a hundred men on it immediately."

With that, Dal'Serah took a seat at a station overlooking the horizon. Its sights were pleasing, allowing him to be lost in the moment. If his fortune were any better, Dal'Serah would have believed it to be a delusion or a vivid-dream. Then a sudden rumble interrupted his thoughts. Immediately, he began running an eye over the master controls, checking for damage reports, or whatever massive hardware failure had created the sound. But then another rumble followed, swiftly trailed by others in sequence. Realization came to him, and stared out onto Torfan's landscape, smoke and fire ripping up from a dozen points out of the white terrain. What was worse, he realized the explosions weren't limited to the surface; giant fireballs were consuming the fleet in orbit. Already debris from corvettes and frigates were filling Torfan's orbit while the rest of the defense fleet scrambled for safety in the coverless void. All around him, officers were yammering in shock and confusion. Dal'Serah heard no words, but could recognized the tone of surprise.

"Are we blind!?" He shouted, momentarily ceasing all chaos. He had the attention of the entire moon. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on!"

An engineer-looking batarian flicked an eyepiece from his face. "Sir, it appears that Batteries One through Fifty have malfunctioned, and are targeting friendly craft."

Dal'Serah bit back a groan. "Then call our service technicians and maintenance staff underground and inform them of the situation!"

"Sir, that is not possible."

"And why not?" Exaggerated patience filled his voice.

"Because it seems all communications have ceased. There is the possibility the comm tower has also malfunctioned."

' _The comm tower and the defense malfunctioning, at the same time? It's not possible, but there is no other explanation …'_ Dal'Serah thought. A vague possibility swam across his mind. _'What if … no. Too primitive. They don't even know basic trans-luminal programming. And yet…so much money. I was distracted.'_

"Deploy the garrison!" He screamed. "We're under attack!"

Movement, _organized_ movement, quickly surrounded him; Vener barking orders and his subordinates pulling up aerial maps and holograms. Swift response was good, a quick decision that accelerated security patterns frequently dispelled attacks long before damage could be done. Still, a thought crawled through the back of Dal'Serah's brain – a thought that should not have frightened him, that meant nothing at this juncture, had no implications on the reality he was facing, but one making his clenched fist tremble nonetheless.

' _Is it the humans? Did I underestimate them so drastically? Could the Shadow Broker have tipped them off, paid them to attack me?'_ A more horrifying though flamed through his mind. _'Did they want me to take the slaves, put them all in one place?'_

* * *

 _ **UNASS Clarence E. Walsh**_

 **Destroyer**

 **Command Deck**

Captain Murray made it a point to never show true emotion. In tense situations, a calm, level headed leader was needed. It had been two hours since they'd arrived at their destination, a mere FTL jump from Torfan. Without any Relays present, there was no risk of any ship, enemy or otherwise, stumbling upon the UNAS flotilla. Yet with the risks dealt with, the atmosphere across all ships remained tense. After two hours at full alert, waiting for the signal to launch the operation, even the most patient of soldiers was becoming exasperated.

Despite his own concerns, Murray could do little else than have faith in the N7 marines and their Spectre allies. To distract himself, he stood on the bridge of the ||Clarence E. Walsh|| and stared into the stars on the view-screen, taking a moment to acknowledge the ship's improvements. A retrofit of such scale required both an eye for detail and an emphasis on implementation. This was certainly amongst one of humanity's greatest achievements.

Yet while it floated in the emptiness of the void, its full fury had yet to be unleased. It would certainly be a remarkable moment, Murray thought, when the opportunity presented itself. Human innovation would be demonstrated on a level no other race had seen –perhaps one of the greatest gifts humanity had to offer. He laughed inwardly at his own childish eagerness. The ships under his command were tools, operated by some of the best naval minds humanity could boast, and like any tool, they had to be applied at the appropriate time.

"Sir?" Commander Otomo approached. Murray indicated his attentiveness with a flick of his head. "Transmission received from Commander Hower. Phase one is a success."

Cheers and applause erupted in the bridge; Murray allowed the exuberant display before raising a hand, bringing instant silence. "So far, so good, but be aware that our mission is not yet complete. We have yet to rescue any human captives and I have no doubt our men on Torfan will need our assistance yesterday if not sooner." Moving towards his command chair, Murray took his seat before opening comms to the rest of the fleet. "All ships this is Captain Murray, phase one is complete, I repeat phase one is complete. Report to battle-stations and prepare for FTL jump."

Otomo, along with the rest of the ship's crew, hurried to their stations. The soft hum of the reactor rose gently in pitch as the FTL drives drained power. Murray folded his hands, observing a pair of freighters, carrying infantry reinforcements, racing towards one of the other ship's hangar bays. All around him, primary and secondary weapons were brought online. After the final ship signaled its readiness, all ships were plunged across space at speeds faster than light itself could reach.

Before the mind could process it, the human fleet dropped back out of FTL. Dozens of vessels winked into existence against the shroud of space, filling the void as if some deity had ignited newly-formed stars across the heavens. Captain Murray could identify all the enemy ship's silhouettes. Already he could see the result of the infiltration teams. Half a dozen corvettes and frigates littered in orbit, killed by their own defenses. The rest were heavily crippled, but the majority still remained.

If the enemy fleet hadn't been bound in shock when their own defenses unexpectedly fired upon them, then they certainly were when a small UNAS flotilla emerged from the depths of nowhere, weapons locked and loaded.

Within the human fleet, bulkheads had been sealed, all flammable material secured, and the ships' AIs were seeking targeting solutions. For a moment, Murray could have sworn time stopped, every weapon on his ship and the surrounding vessels locked into place. His predatory instinct, never deeply buried, howled in triumph.

The initial strike came in the form of a series of light missiles fired from the _Freedom_ ,heralding the destruction of the system's comm buoys. Murray nodded in satisfaction. Torfan's lack of comm sat's isolated the system, preventing requests for reinforcements. At the same time, it paid tribute to the initial naval battle of Shanxi, where the batarian fleet had done the same.

Murray did not advert his gaze from the enemy fleet as he gestured to his ship's AI. "Athena, are all ships accounted for?"

"Yes, Captain," Came the response in an electronically pitched female voice.

"Have all ships acquire targeting solutions and fire main cannons ASAP," Without a moment to waste, Murray began issuing orders at near inhuman speed. "Aku, target the battlecruisers with everything we've got. They're the most dangerous opponents. Otomo: all freighters and dropships carrying infantry reinforcements need to steer clear of the battle, and make way towards the moon. Its defenses are still targeting the enemy fleet so they should be safe. Have a squadron of Stingers escort them, the rest engage enemy craft at their discretion. Order all Spirits to target the remaining enemy corvettes and frigates. I want the _Independence_ and _Freedom_ to target the enemy's cruisers. Let's take out the enemy's big guns." Even with the long list of orders, Captain Murray didn't need time to catch his breath. Years of experience had made him accustomed to issuing orders that would strain the lungs of other individuals. "Athena, command counter-measures. I want all ships to coordinate their GARDIANs to form a protective bubble. We cannot afford to lose any ship, especially this early in the fight."

"Affirmative, Captain," the AI replied.

The batarian fleet futilely attempted to regroup, facing the imminent threat of the UNAS ships while beginning to bombard their own defense batteries to avoid further damage. Fighters and interceptors launched from whatever hangars weren't damaged or destroyed, separating to target the oncoming human convoy of landing vehicles while engaging the fleet. However, the JSF Stingers were ready to receive them.

Like apex predators, the Stingers descended upon the enemy interceptors, firing Joint Common and Interceptor missiles. Many managed to hit their mark, inflicting tremendous losses upon the vanguard. 30mm autocannons as suppressing fire, forced the rest of the enemy interceptors to scatter; chaos in their wake.

In addition to the Stingers, the batarians were forced to contend with the elite JSF H.A.W.X squadron and their new Razorbacks, something the slavers on Torfan have never even heard of much less faced. None of the slavers on Torfan had experience fighting humans; JSF stealth tactics and UNAS hardware baffled their programmed responses, and did worse to the inexperienced crews.

The JSF aircraft engaged their ECM systems, obscuring their arrival vector and scrambling all sensors. Disregarding outside of plain visuals, the JSF fighters were for all intents and purposes invisible to enemy radar.

The result gave a one-sided massacre as the enemy small craft were destroyed by missiles or auto-cannons. Yet another nasty surprise sprung upon the enemy as the JSF ships' new GARDIAN lasers, reached forty kilometers further than any other model previously known, eviscerating metal barriers. This alone damaged five squadrons and caused even more disarray upon the enemy. With their numbers greatly dwindled, the rest of the batarian interceptors fell back under the cover of their ships' GARDIAN laser defenses.

With JSF Spirits already locked on a course for the enemy's damaged light vessels, the Razorbacks and Stingers had no choice but to pursue the enemy. In this moment, and in a move motivated by panic, the enemy made the grave mistake of using their GARDIAN defenses to assist their aircraft. Many of the batarian's GARDIAN lasers' hit their target, damaging shields but failing to collapse them. The failed offense allowed the JSF aircraft to continue their onslaught, unleashing continuous barrages of missiles and autocannon fire.

Once within range the Stingers fired their Kinetic Rods, two per bomber for a total of nearly three hundred Rods. The result was devastating, many nearly causing the destruction of several ships upon detonation. Seeing their opportunity, the H.A.W.X squadron concentrated fire with their MOABs, launching all two hundred and forty on a crippled cruiser and managing to destroy it. But the human force wasn't free of damage either, with their shields nearly collapsed the Stingers and Razorbacks were forced to retreat, but not before launching the rest of their ordnance to further exhaust the enemy's GARDIANs.

For a brief moment the enemy had breathing space from the hectic fighting, enjoying some degree of relief. This moment of tranquility was quickly interrupted by an alert, warning of JSF Spirits launching their own payload. With their interceptors greatly dwindled and GARDIANs overheated, the batarian fleet could do little other than attempt evasive maneuvers in an effort to avoid the brunt of the attack. A mixture of bombs, rockets, and Kinetic Rods devastated the enemy corvettes and frigates, destroying five in total before the Spirits launched on a return vector to their flotilla. Many carried scarred hulls from enemy fire, but few were considerable enough to warrant a complete withdrawal.

It was a tremendous sight for Murray to see his fighters and bombers score so many decisive strikes. He did not look away from the main screen, displaying the successful deployment of infantry reinforcements on the moon. Their landing had largely been undisturbed, the greatest loss being a freighter carrying a contingent of LOKI mechs. Freed from the Batarian air support, a squadron of Spirits and Stingers soon began bombing runs on the enemy troops on the surface, giving the Alliance forces time to reform, consolidating their strength.

With that taken care of Murray returned his attention to the enemy fleet, already having lost nearly half of its total force. "All ships, fire main cannons!" He barked. An instant later, he felt the vibration of the ship's recoil as both of its main cannons fired in unison. Over a hundred kilotons of kinetic force bombarded an enemy battlecruiser, the _Walsh's_ serrated metal wedge rounds collapsing the battlecruiser's shields and penetrating deep into its armor, delivering a killing blow to its reactor, causing a chain reaction that destroyed the ship entirely.

The other battlecruiser quickly felt the brunt of the _Walsh's_ attack. This time the attack merely hindered the large ship, collapsing its shield as its own VI sought a lock on the heavy destroyer. Before it could fire, it's hull battered by a barrage of three hundred Javelin missiles followed by a salvo of five Mass Accelerator shots fired by the _Independence_ and _Freedom_. It was enough to just barely destroy the ship, signaling the loss of the enemy's fierce capital ships.

Unfortunately, the enemy was not so easily intimidated. The remaining ships began firing off their own cannons, missiles, and torpedoes.

"Athena, fire a salvo of ECM missiles," Murray ordered.

The AI did as commanded, firing off a series of ECM missiles with inhuman precision. The missiles did their job, scrambling the targeting vectors of Javelin missiles and Disruptor torpedoes. However, it could do nothing in the face of incoming Mass Accelerator rounds.

Using the recent upgrades, the JSF flotilla sharply maneuvered as they attempted to shift out of the incoming barrage. The move was largely successful, the flotilla only received two of the five shots. The fire strained barriers and crippled armor, but luckily the upgrades on all three ships did their job in holding them together. Before the remnants of the enemy fleet could reacquire targets, the JSF responded. Their counter-attack consisted of electronical and information warfare.

The attack wouldn't halt the enemy for long, but Murray didn't need much time. With their own superior AIs free of ECM attacks and able to process tasks exponentially faster than any VI, the three human ships reacquired their own targeting lock upon the enemy's fleet.

Suppressive fire was a tactic often employed in ground warfare, but on this day Murray displayed to an empty audience the positives of such a tactic employed in a naval battle. Using their peak rate of fire, the _Independence_ and _Freedom_ unleashed a torrent of volley fire with near childish fervor. The two frigates dared not stop for even a mere millisecond, round after round exiting the increasingly heated barrels of their cannons.

Torpedoes, missiles, and kinetic rods followed the firestorm, punching the enemy fleet where it hurt the most. The enemy's sole frigate was destroyed as were half the enemy's cruisers. With the battle largely lost, the remaining two cruisers attempted to flee, only to be blocked by the _Walsh_ firing its dual Mass Accelerators and a heavy barrage of nearly a hundred kinetic rods dispersed equally between the two ships. The attack was the final nail in the coffin, unequivocally destroying the enemy ships. Only husks of hulls and debris of the enemy fleet remained, a cruel fate for any, yet not undeserved.

Despite the success no cheers or congratulations were passed this time around; none of the crew lost their grimly determined look. "All ships, descend upon Torfan. We've got troops awaiting our support," Murray signaled the navigator, including his destroyer and accompanying frigates in the descent. Its underground inhabitants remained completely ignorant of the battle currently being waged. However, in the midst of the action the JSF flotilla failed to detect a lone shuttle heading for the system's Relay, its signature concealed by the enormous debris and the electronic signatures from the husks of ships circling Torfan's orbit

* * *

 **A/N:** And now we start the battle of Torfan! Sorry to keep you guys waiting, but the hurricane knocked out my internet, so I couldn't post anything. I hope the delay was well worth it and I hope the initial naval battle was a nice counter to the largely stealth oriented chapter. Fret not however, as the underground hell hole is about to commence.

Also, if anyone is a bit peeved at the somewhat one-sided naval battle, this was done intentionally to demonstrate how far humanity has progressed in the short amount of time it's been exposed to the galaxy. The naval battle of Torfan is meant to contrast the battle of Shanxi and how opposite the two battles were. On Shanxi, a fully experienced, prepared, and arguably the best naval fleet the Hegemony had to offer battled a hastily setup, unexpected, and mixed human/raloi defense fleet. On Torfan we largely see the opposite where a now experienced and prepared human flotilla, composed of some of humanity's most advanced warships, battles a crippled, largely unexperienced (in terms of combating human forces), and quite surprised batarian slaver fleet.

Finally, I leave you with this last note, if you have any questions that you desire to be answered then PLEASE LEAVE CONTANT INFORMATION to get back to you! This will be the last chapter I will reply to guest reviews with questions. After this I will continue to read them, but I will no longer be answering them on follow-up chapters unless one is warranted.

 **Guest 1 - Q: how about you give the JSF a new exo like the one in call of duty?**

A - The JSF already have an exoskeleton that Pioneers use, the APE-1A2 exoskeleton. They can always build off and upgrade that so what need is there for one? What purpose and/or tactical benefits would an exo-skeleton like one from Call of Duty Advanced Warfare offer that the APE-1A2 or subsequent upgrades from it cannot?

 **Guest 2 – Q: So are you going to put endwar online units on this fic?**

A – Such as? Working off my previous post, what need is there for new units? Sure, later in the story there might need a need for new units but for now there isn't really a need for a new arsenal of them. Besides if there was, what units would you like to see? I've tried looking into what units Endwar online has and came out with very little due to the servers hosting the game having been shut down. If you have a detailed list of the units that you would like to see as well as their abilities, please feel free to PM them to me.

 **Guest 3 – Q: and black ops tech if you want**

A – What type of tech? And what purpose would they serve? What need is there of them? Don't get me wrong, I will definitely be having weapons/tech from other games be included in this fic, but nothing ground-breaking and only tech/weapons that fit the criteria of the factions that will use them? For example, the Enforcers won't be using a brute, from Halo, based weapon because it's too heavy, brutal, crude, and contradictory to the E.F's battle doctrine.

 **Guest 4/5 - For the new chinese republic combat grunts from black ops 3 or the jackals form infinite warfare. [For the new chinese republic combat grunts from black ops 3 or the c12 from call of duty infinite warfare.]**

A – You double posted, but it seems you've realized that and asked me to ignore it, but I will address it nonetheless. What reason is there for it? If you can give me a compelling reason why it should be added and how it aligns with NCRA battle doctrine, or how any tech fits the criteria of the faction you would it to be used by, then I won't have any problem adding them in. However, if it's just about adding tech just for the sake of it, then I am against that as it doesn't add anything of substance to the story and actually distracts from it.

 **Trivia**

 **1.** The insertion onto Torfan was inspired by Star Wars Rogue One, with some noticeable differences.

 **2.** Han's quote about their obliteration if they failed is a direct reference to the Green Lantern Animated Series where Razor says the same thing, though the situations are a bit different.

 **3.** The shuttle designation that the infiltration team uses is a direct reference to the Mass Effect franchise and Noble Six from Halo Reach.

 **4.** Hower's speech is loosely inspired by Jyn Erso from Star Wars Rogue One, where she makes a similar speech regarding their chances of succeeding being more important than surviving.

 **5.** The specific portion 'we either win or we all die' is a direct reference to Battlefield 1's Italian campaign, specifically the Arditti's motto. If you have not played it, assuming you have the game, then I highly suggest doing so because it is one of the best stories in BF1 despite being only two missions. The main character's last statements perfectly sum up the tragedy of loss experienced in war and my god was it epic. In case you can't tell, despite me being Mexican-American, I loved that campaign.

 **6.** Saren's 'make each man feel like a hundred' is a direct reference to Cassin from Rogue One who states the same. It should be rather obvious at this point the inspiration behind the chapter.

 **7.** There is a slight Band of Brothers reference hidden in the chapter, specifically in the description of the infiltration team because let's face it that was exactly what the original Band of Brothers from the U.S para-troopers were, a group composed of ordinary Americans from different backgrounds, social class, home-town, etc. It's strange how only in tragedies will you witness these strange bonds. It's kind of sad we don't see this as a common thing in peaceful times.

 **8.** The 'Strength of the wolf is the pack and the strength of the pack is the wolf' is a direct reference to Bungie's Destiny, more specifically the Law of the Jungle trailer. Seriously though, do you guys think Bungie, or what is left of it, has done right by gamers in the sequel or was it a letdown? It seems our childhood memories are being crushed under the weight of greed.

 **9.** Saren's calculations and description of the enemy's barracks is a direct reference to the book Ghost Soldiers, that also served as inspiration for the chapter.

 **10.** This will be the first chapter up since I've gotten internet back and in the aftermath of hurricane Irma.


End file.
